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Romain  Rolland  after  a  drawing  by  Granie  (.1909) 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

THE  MAN  AND  HIS  WORK 


BY 

STEFAN  ZWEIG 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  ORIGINAL  MANUSCRIPT 
BY 

EDEN  and  CEDAR  PAUL 


W 


New  York 

THOMAS  SELTZER 

1921 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
THOMAS  SELTZER,  Inc. 


All  rights  reaerved 


PBINTED  IN    V.  B.  A. 


Not  merely  do  I  describe  the  work  of  a  great 
European.  Above  all  do  I  pay  tribute  to  a  person- 
ality, that  of  one  who  for  me  and  for  many  others 
has  loomed  as  the  most  impressive  moral  phenom- 
enon of  our  age.  Modelled  upon  his  own  biogra- 
phies of  classical  figures,  endeavouring  to  portray 
the  greatness  of  an  artist  while  never  losing  sight 
of  the  man  or  forgetting  his  influence  upon  the 
world  of  moral  endeavour,  conceived  in  this  spirit, 
my  book  is  likewise  inspired  with  a  sense  of  per- 
sonal gratitude,  in  that,  amid  these  days  forlorn,  it 
has  been  vouchsafed  to  me  to  know  the  miracle  of 
so  radiant  an  existence. 

IN  COMMEMORATION 

of  this  uniqueness,  I  dedicate  the  book  to  those 
few  who,  in  the  hour  of  fiery  trial,  remained  faith- 
ful to 

ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

AND  TO  OUR  BELOVED  HOME  OF 

EUROPE 


4 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Dedication 

PART  ONE:    BIOGRAPHICAL 

I.    Introductory        1 

II.    Early   Childhood 3 

III.  School  Days 8 

IV.  The  Normal  School 12 

V.  A  Message  from  Afar 18 

VI.  Saint  Louis,  1894 80 

VII.    The  Consecration 29 

VIII,    Years  of  Apprenticeship 32 

IX.    Years  of  Struggle 37 

X.    A  Decade  of  Seclusion 43 

XI.    A  Portrait 45 

XIL    Renown        48 

XIII.    Rolland  as  the  Embodiment  of  the  European  Spirit     .  52 

PART  TWO:    EARLY  WORK  AS  A  DRAMATIST 

I.    The  Work  and  the  Epoch 57 

II.    The  Will  to  Greatness 63 

III.  The  Creative  Cycles 67 

IV.  The  Unknown  Dramatic  Cycle 71 

V.    The  Tragedies  of  Faith.    Saint  Louis,  Aert,  1895-1898   .  76 

VI.    Saint  Louis.  1894 80 


viii  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

VII.    Aert,   1898 83 

VIII.  Attempt  to  Regenerate  the  French  Stage     ....  86 

IX.    An  Appeal  to  the  People 90 

X.    The   Program gi 

XL    The  Creative  Artist 98 

XII.  The  Drama  of  the  Revolution,  1898-1902     .     .     .     .100 

XIII.  The  Fourteenth  of  July,  1902 103 

XIV.  Danton,  1900 106 

XV.    The  Triumph  of  Reason,  1899 110 

XVI.  The  Wolves,  1898 113 

XVII.  The  Call  Lost  in  the  Void 117 

XVIII.  A  Day  Will  Come,  1902 119 

XIX.  The  Playwright       123 

PART  THREE:    THE  HEROIC  BIOGRAPHIES 

I.    De  Profundis 133 

n.    The  Heroes  of  Suffering 137 

in.    Beethoven         140 

IV.    Michelangelo        144 

V.    Tolstoi         147 

VI.    The  Unwritten  Biographies 150 

PART  FOUR:    JEAN  CHRISTOPHE 
I.    Sanctus  Christophorus        157 

II.  Resurrection         160 

III.  The  Origin  of  the  Work 162 

IV.  The  Work  without  a  Formula 166 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  ix 

PAGE 

V.    Key  to  the  Characters 172 

VI,    A  Heroic  Symphony 177 

VII.     The  Enigma  of  Creative  Work 181 

VIII.    Jean  Christophe 188 

IX.    Olivier        195 

X.     Grazia         200 

XI.    Jean  Christophe  and  his  Fellow  Men 203 

XII.    Jean  Christophe  and  the  Nations 207 

XIII.  The  Picture  of  France 211 

XIV.  The  Picture  of  Germany 217 

XV.     The  Picture  of  Italy 221 

XVI.    The   Jews        224 

XVII.    The  Generations 229 

XVIII.     Departure 235 

PART  FIVE:    INTERMEZZO  SCHERZO  (COLAS  BREUGNON) 

I.    Taken  Unawares 241 

II.     The  Burcundian   Brother 244 

III.  Gauloiseries        249 

IV.  A  Frustrate  Message 252 

PART  SIX:  THE  CONSQENCE  OF  EUROPE 

I.    The  Warden  of  the  Inheritance 257 

II.    Forearmed        260 

III.  The  Place  of  Refuge 264 

IV.  The  Service  of  Man 268 

V.    The  Tribunal  of  the  Spirit 271 

VI.  The  Controversy  with  Gerhardt  Hauptmann      .     .     .  277 


X  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

VII.     The  Correspondence  with  Verhaeren 281 

VIII.    The  European  Conscience 285 

IX.    The  Manifestoes 289 

X.    Above    the   Battle 293 

XI.    The  Campaign  against  Hatred 297 

XII.    Opponents 304 

XIII.  Friends 311 

XIV.  The  Letters 317 

XV.    The  Counselor 320 

XVI.    The  Solitary 324 

XVII.    The  Diary 327 

XVIII.    The  Forerunners  and  Empedocles 329 

XIX.    l<!LULi        335 

XX.    Clerambault        339 

XXI.    The  Last  Appeal 348 

XXII.  Declaration    of  the  Independence  of  the  Mind     .     .  351 

XXIII.    Envoy        355 

Bibliography 357 

Index 371 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Romain  Rolland  after  a  drawing  by  Granie  (1909) 

Frontispiece 

TACINQ 
PAGE 

Romain  Rolland  at  the  Normal  School 12 

Leo  Tolstoi's  Letter 20 

Rolland's  Transcript  of  Francesco  Provenzale's  Aria  from 

Lo  Schiavo  di  sua  Moglie 34 

Rolland's  Transcript  of  a  Melody  by  Paul  Dupin,    UOncle 

Gottfried 35 

Romain  Rolland  at  the  Time  of  Writing  Beethoven     .      .    142 

Romain  Rol'land  at  the  Time  of  Writing  Jean  Christophe  162 

Romain  Rolland  at  the  Time  of  Writing  Above  the  Battle  294 

Rolland's  Mother 324 

Original  Manuscript  of  The  Declaration  of  the  Independ- 
ence of  the  Mind 352 


PART  ONE 
BIOGRAPHICAL 

The  surge  of  the  Heart*s  energies 
would  not  break  in  a  mist  of  foam, 
nor  be  subtilized  into  Spirit,  did  not 
the  rock  of  Fate,  from  the  beginning 
of  days,  stand  ever  silent  in  the  way. 

HOLDERLIN. 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


CHAPTER  I 

INTRODUCTORY 

THE  first  fifty  years  of  Romain  Rolland's  life 
were  passed  in  inconspicuous  and  almost  soli- 
tary labors.  Thenceforward,  his  name  was  to 
become  a  storm  center  of  European  discussion.  Until 
shortly  before  the  apocalyptic  year,  hardly  an  artist  of 
our  days  worked  in  such  complete  retirement,  or  re- 
ceived so  little  recognition. 

Since  that  year,  no  artist  has  been  the  subject  of  so 
much  controversy.  His  fundamental  ideas  were  not 
destined  to  make  themselves  generally  known  until  there 
was  a  world  in  arms  bent  upon  destroying  them. 

Envious  fate  works  ever  thus,  interweaving  the  lives 
of  the  great  with  tragical  threads.  She  tries  her  powers 
to  the  uttermost  upon  the  strong,  sending  events  to  run 
counter  to  their  plans,  permeating  their  lives  with  strange 
allegories,  imposing  obstacles  in  their  path — that  they 
may  be  guided  more  unmistakably  in  the  right  course. 
Fate  plays  with  them,  plays  a  game  with  a  sublime  issue, 


2  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

for  all  experience  is  precious.  Think  of  the  greatest 
among  our  contemporaries;  think  of  Wagner,  Nietzsche, 
Dostoevsky,  Tolstoi,  Strindberg;  in  the  case  of  each  of 
them,  destiny  has  superadded  to  the  creations  of  the 
artist's  mind,  the  drama  of  personal  experience. 

Notably  do  these  considerations  apply  to  the  life  of 
»  Romain  Rolland.  The  significance  of  his  life's  work 
{ \  becomes  plain  only  when  it  ^  contemplated  as  a  whole. 
It  was  slowly  produced,  f  or '  it  had  to  encounter  great 
dangers;  it  was  a  gradual  revelation,  tardily  consum- 
mated. The  foundations  of  this  splendid  structure  were 
deeply  dug  in  the  firm  ground  of  knowledge,  and  were 
laid  upon  the  hidden  masonry  of  years  spent  in  isola- 
tion. Thus  tempered  by  the  ordeal  of  a  furnace  seven 
times  heated,  his  work  has  the  essential  imprint  of  hu- 
manity. Precisely  owing  to  the  strength  of  its  founda- 
tions, to  the  solidity  of  its  moral  energy,  was"  Rolland's 
thought  able  to  stand  unshaken  throughout  the  war  storms 
that  have  been  ravaging  Europe.  While  other  monu- 
ments to  which  we  had  looked  up  with  veneration,  crack- 
ing and  crumbling,  have  been  leveled  with  the  quaking 
earth,  the  monument  he  had  builded  stands  firm  "above 
the  battle,"  above  the  medley  of  opinions,  a  pillar  of 
strength  towards  which  all  free  spirits  can  turn  for  con- 
solation amid  the  tumult  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  II 

EARLY   CHILDHOOD 

ROMAIN  ROLLAND  was  bom  on  January  29, 
1866,  a  year  of  strife,  the  year  when  Sadowa 
was  fought.  His  native  town  was  Clamecy, 
where  another  imaginative  writer,  Claude  Tillier,  au- 
thor of  Mon  Oncle  Benjamin,  was  likewise  born.  An 
ancient  city,  within  the  confines  of  old-time  Burgundy, 
Clamecy  is  a  quiet  place,  where  life  is  easy  and  unevent- 
ful. The  Rollands  belong  to  a  highly  respected  middle- 
class  family.  His  father,  who  was  a  lawyer,  was  one 
of  the  notables  of  the  town.  His  mother,  a  pious  and 
serious-minded  woman,  devoted  all  her  energies  to  the 
upbringing  of  her  two  children;  Romain,  a  delicate  boy, 
and  his  sister  Madeleine,  younger  than  he.  As  far  as 
the  environment  of  daily  life  was  concerned,  the  atmos- 
phere was  calm  and  untroubled;  but  in  the  blood  of  the 
parents  existed  contrasts  deriving  from  earlier  days  of 
French  history,  contrasts  not  yet  fully  reconciled.  On 
the  father's  side,  Rolland's  ancestors  were  champions  of 
the  Convention,  ardent  partisans  of  the  Revolution,  and 
some  of  them  sealed  their  faith  with  their  blood.  From 
his  mother's  family  he  inherited  the  Jansenist  spirit,  the 
investigator's  temperament  of  Port-Royal.     He  was  thus 


4  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

endowed  by  both  parents  with  tendencies  to  fervent  faith, 
but  tendencies  to  faith  in  contradictory  ideals.  In 
France  this  cleavage  between  love  for  religion  and  pas- 
sion for  freedom,  between  faith  and  revolution,  dates 
from  centuries  back.  Its  seeds  were  destined  to  blos- 
som in  the  artist. 

His  first  years  of  childhood  were  passed  in  the  shadow 
of  the  defeat  of  1870.  In  Antoinette,  Holland  sketches 
the  tranquil  life  of  just  such  a  provincial  town  as  Cla- 
mecy.  His  home  was  an  old  house  on  the  bank  of  a 
canal.  Not  from  this  narrow  world  were  to  spring  the 
first  delights  of  the  boy  who,  despite  his  physical  frailty, 
was  so  passionately  sensitive  to  enjoyment.  A  mighty 
impulse  from  afar,  from  the  unfathomable  past,  came 
to  stir  his  pulses.  Early  did  he  discover  music,  the  lan- 
guage of  languages,  the  first  great  message  of  the  soul. 
,  His  mother  taught  him  the  piano.  From  its  tones  he 
M  learned  to  build  for  himself  the  infinite  world  of  feel- 
ing, thus  transcending  the  limits  imposed  by  nationality. 
For  while  the  pupil  eagerly  assimilated  the  easily  under- 
stood music  of  French  classical  composers,  German 
music  at  the  same  time  enthralled  his  youthful  soul. 
He  has  given  an  admirable  description  of  the  way  in 
which  this  revelation  came  to  him:  "We  had  a  num- 
ber of  old  German  music  books.  German?  Did  I  know 
the  meaning  of  the  word?  In  our  part  of  the  world  I 
believe  no  one  had  ever  seen  a  German  ...  I  turned 
the  leaves  of  the  old  books,  spelling  out  the  notes  on  the 
piano,  .  .  .  and  these  runnels,  these  streamlets  of  mel- 


EARLY  CHILDHOOD  5 

ody,  which  watered  my  heart,  sank  into  the  thirsty 
ground  as  the  rain  soaks  into  the  earth.  The  bliss  and 
the  pain,  the  desires  and  the  dreams,  of  Mozart  and 
Beethoven,  have  become  flesh  of  my  flesh  and  bone  of 
my  bone.  I  am  them,  and  they  are  me  .  .  .  How  much 
do  I  owe  them.  When  I  was  ill  as  a  child,  and  death 
seemed  near,  a  melody  of  Mozart  would  watch  over  my 
pillow  like  a  lover  .  .  .  Later,  in  crises  of  doubt  and 
depression,  the  music  of  Beethoven  would  revive  in  me 
the  sparks  of  eternal  life  .  .  .  Whenever  my  spirit  is 
weary,  whenever  I  am  sick  at  heart,  I  turn  to  my  piano 
and  bathe  in  music." 

/  Thus  early  did  the  child  enter  into  communion  with 
the  wordless  speech  of  humanity;  thus  early  had  the  all- 
embracing  sympathy  of  the  life  of  feeling  enabled  him 
to  pass  beyond  the  narrows  of  town  and  of  province,  of 
nation  and  of  era.  Music  was  his  first  prayer  to  the 
elemental  forces  of  life;  a  prayer  daily  repeated  in 
countless  forms;  so  that  now,  half  a  century  later,  a 
week  and  even  a  day  rarely  elapses  without  his  hold- 
ing converse  with  Beethoven.  The  other  saint  of  his 
childhood's  days,  Shakespeare,  likewise  belonged  to  a 
foreign  land.  With  his  first  loves,  all  unaware,  the  lad 
had  already  overstridden  the  confines  of  nationality. 
Amid  the  dusty  lumber  in  a  loft  he  discovered  an  edition 
of  Shakespeare,  which  his  grandfather  (a  student  in  Paris 
when  Victor  Hugo  was  a  young  man  and  Shakespeare 
mania  was  rife)  had  bought  and  forgotten.  His  child- 
ish interest  was  first  awakened  by  a  volume  of  faded  en- 


6  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

gravings  entitled  Galerie  des  femmes  de  Shakespeare. 
His  fancy  was  thrilled  by  the  charming  faces,  by  the 
magical  names  Perdita,  Imogen,  and  Miranda.  But 
soon,  reading  the  plays,  he  became  immersed  in  the  maze 
of  happenings  and  personalities.  He  would  remain  in 
the  loft  hour  after  hour,  disturbed  by  nothing  beyond  the 
occasional  trampling  of  the  horses  in  the  stable  below  or 
by  the  rattling  of  a  chain  on  a  passing  barge.  Forget- 
ting everything  and  forgotten  by  all  he  sat  in  a  great  arm- 
chair with  the  beloved  book,  which  like  that  of  Prospero 
made  all  the  spirits  of  the  universe  his  servants.  He  was 
encircled  by  a  throng  of  unseen  auditors,  by  imaginary 
figures  which  formed  a  rampart  between  himself  and  the 
world  of  realities. 

As  ever  happens,  we  see  a  great  life  opening  with 
great  dreams.  His  first  enthusiasms  were  most  power- 
fully aroused  by  Shakespeare  and  Beethoven,  The 
youth  inherited  from  the  child,  the  man  from  the  youth, 
this  passionate  admiration  for  greatness.  One  who  has 
hearkened  to  such  a  call,  cannot  easily  confine  his  ener- 
gies within  a  narrow  circle.  The  school  in  the  petty 
provincial  town  had  nothing  more  to  teach  this  aspiring 
boy.  The  parents  could  not  bring  themselves  to  send 
their  darling  alone  to  the  metropolis,  so  with  heroic  self- 
denial  they  decided  to  sacrifice  their  own  peaceful  exist- 
ence. The  father  resigned  his  lucrative  and  independent 
position  as  notary,  which  made  him  a  leading  figure  in 
Clamecy  society,  in  order  to  become  one  of  the  num- 
berless employees  of  a  Parisian  bank.  The  familiar 
home,  the  patriarchal  life,  were  thrown  aside  that  the 


EARLY  CHILDHOOD  7 

Rollands  might  watch  over  their  boy's  schooling  and 
upgrowing  in  the  great  city.  The  whole  family  looked 
to  Romain's  interest,  thus  teaching  him  early  what  others 
do  not  usually  leam  until  full  manhood — responsibility. 


CHAPTER  III 

SCHOOL   DAYS 

THE  boy  was  still  too  young  to  feel  the  magic  of 
Paris.  To  his  dreamy  nature,  the  clamorous 
and  brutal  materialism  of  the  city  seemed 
strange  and  almost  hostile.  Far  on  into  life  he  was  to 
retain  from  these  hours  a  hidden  dread,  a  hidden  shrink- 
ing from  the  fatuity  and  soullessness  of  great  towns,  an 
f  I  inexplicable  feeling  that  there  was  a  lack  of  truth  and 
■  l  genuineness  in  the  life  of  the  capital.  His  parents  sent 
him  to  the  Lyceum  of  Louis  the  Great,  a  celebrated  high 
school  in  the  heart  of  Paris.  Many  of  the  ablest  and 
most  distinguished  sons  of  France,  have  been  among  the 
boys  who,  humming  like  a  swarm  of  bees,  emerge  daily 
at  noon  from  the  great  hive  of  knowledge.  He  was  intro- 
duced to  the  items  of  French  classical  education,  that  he 
might  become  "un  bon  perroquet  Comelien."  His  vital 
experiences,  however,  lay  outside  the  domain  of  this 
logical  poesy  or  poetical  logic;  his  enthusiasms  drew 
him,  as  heretofore,  towards  a  poesy  that  was  really  alive, 
and  towards  music.  Nevertheless,  it  was  at  school  that 
he  found  his  first  companion. 

By  the  caprice  of  chance,  for  this  friend  likewise  fame 
was  to  come  only  after  twenty  years  of  silence.     Romain 

8 


SCHOOL  DAYS  9 

Rolland  and  his  intimate  Paul  Claudel  (author  of  An- 
nonce  faite  a  Marie),  the  two  greatest  imaginative  writ- 
ters  in  contemporary  France,  who  crossed  the  threshold 
of  school  together,  were  almost  simultaneously,  twenty 
years  later,  to  secure  a  European  reputation.  During 
the  last  quarter  of  a  century,  the  two  have  followed  very 
different  paths  in  faith  and  spirit,  have  cultivated  widely 
divergent  ideals.  Claudel's  steps  have  been  directed 
towards  the  mystic  cathedral  of  the  Catholic  past;  Rol- 
land has  moved  through  France  and  beyond,  towards  the  '' 
ideal  of  a  free  Europe.  At  that  time,  however,  in  their 
daily  walks  to  and  from  school,  they  enjoyed  endless 
conversations,  exchanging  thoughts  upon  the  books  they 
had  read,  and  mutually  inflaming  one  another's  youthful 
ardors.  The  bright  particular  star  of  their  heaven  was 
Richard  Wagner,  who  at  that  date  was  casting  a  marvel- 
ous spell  over  the  mind  of  French  youth.  In  Rolland's 
case  it  was  not  simply  Wagner  the  artist  who  exercised 
this  influence,  but  Wagner  the  universal  poietic  person- 
ality. 

School  days  passed  quickly  and  somewhat  joylessly. 
Too  sudden  had  been  the  transition  from  the  romanticist 
home  to  the  harshly  realist  Paris.  To  the  sensitive  lad, 
the  city  could  only  show  its  teeth,  display  its  indifference, 
manifest  the  fierceness  of  its  rhythm.  These  qualities, 
this  Maelstrom  aspect,  aroused  in  his  mind  something  ap- 
proaching to  alarm.  He  yearned  for  sympathy,  cordial- 
ity, soaring  aspirations;  now  as  before,  art  was  his 
savior,  "glorious  art,  in  so  many  gray  hours."  His  chief 
joys  were  the  rare  afternoons  spent  at  popular  Sunday 


10  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

concerts,  when  the  pulse  of  music  came  to  thrill  his  heart 
— how  charmingly  is  not  this  described  in  Antoinette! 
Nor  had  Shakespeare  lost  power  in  any  degree,  now  that 
his  figures,  seen  on  the  stage,  were  able  to  arouse  min- 
gled dread  and  ecstasy.  The  boy  gave  his  whole  soul 
to  the  dramatist.  ►  "He  took  possession  of  me  like  a 
conqueror;  I  threw  myself  to  him  like  a  flower.  At  the 
same  time,  the  spirit  of  music  flowed  over  me  as  water 
floods  a  plain;  Beethoven  and  Berlioz  even  more  than 
Wagner.  I  had  to  pay  for  these  joys.  I  was,  as  it  were, 
intoxicated  for  a  year  or  two,  much  as  the  earth  becomes 
supersaturated  in  time  of  flood.  In  the  entrance  ex- 
amination to  the  Normal  School  I  failed  twice,  thanks  to 
my  preoccupation  with  Shakespeare  and  with  music." 
Subsequently,  he  discovered  a  third  master,  a  liberator 
of  his  faith.  This  was  Spinoza,  whose  acquaintance  he 
made  during  an  evening  spent  alone  at  school,  and  whose 
gentle  intellectual  light  was  henceforward  to  illumine 
Rolland's  soul  throughout  life.  The  greatest  of  mankind 
have  ever  been  his  examples  and  companions. 

When  the  time  came  for  him  to  leave  school,  a  conflict 
arose  between  inclination  and  duty.  Rolland's  most 
ardent  wish  was  to  become  an  artist  after  the  manner  of 
Wagner,  to  be  at  once  musician  and  poet,  to  write  heroic 
musical  dramas.  Already  there  were  floating  through 
his  mind  certain  musical  conceptions  which,  as  a  national 
contrast  to  those  of  Wagner,  were  to  deal  with  the  French 
cycle  of  legends.  One  of  these,  that  of  St.  Louis,  he 
was  in  later  years  indeed  to  transfigure,  not  in  music, 
but  in  winged  words.     His  parents,  however,  considered 


SCHOOL  DAYS  11 

such  wishes  premature.  They  demanded  more  practical 
endeavors,  and  recommended  the  Polytechnic  School. 
Ultimately  a  happy  compromise  was  found  between  duty 
and  inclination.  A  decision  was  made  in  favor  of  the 
study  of  the  mental  and  moral  sciences.  In  1886,  at  a 
third  trial,  Holland  brilliantly  passed  the  entrance  ex- 
amination to  the  Normal  School.  This  institution,  with 
its  peculiar  characteristics  and  the  special  historic  form 
of  its  social  life,  was  to  stamp  a  decisive  imprint  upon 
his  thought  and  his  destiny. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   NORMAL   SCHOOL 

ROLLAND'S  childhood  was  passed  amid  the 
rural  landscapes  of  Burgundy.  His  school 
life  was  spent  in  the  roar  of  Paris.  His  stu- 
dent years  involved  a  still  closer  confinement  in  airless 
spaces,  when  he  became  a  boarder  at  the  Normal  School. 
To  avoid  all  distraction,  the  pupils  of  this  institution  are 
shut  away  from  the  world,  kept  remote  from  real  life, 
that  they  may  understand  historical  life  the  better. 
Renan,  in  Souvenirs  d'enfance  et  de  jeunesse,  has  given 
a  powerful  description  of  the  isolation  of  budding  theo- 
logians in  the  seminary.  Embryo  army  officers  are  seg- 
regated at  St.  Cyr.  In  like  manner  at  the  Normal  School 
a  general  staff  for  the  intellectual  world  is  trained  in 
cloistral  seclusion.  The  "normaliens"  are  to  be  the 
teachers  of  the  coming  generation.  The  spirit  of  tradi- 
tion unites  with  stereotyped  method,  the  two  breeding  in- 
and-in  with  fruitful  results;  the  ablest  among  the  scholars 
will  become  in  turn  teachers  in  the  same  institution. 
The  training  is  severe,  demanding  indefatigable  dili- 
gence, for  its  goal  is  to  discipline  the  intellect.  But 
since  it  aspires  towards  universality  of  culture,  the  Nor- 
mal School  permits  considerable  freedom  of  organiza- 

12 


Romain  Rolland  at  the  Normal  School 


THE  NORMAL  SCHOOL  13 

tion,  and  avoids  the  dangerous  over-specialization  char- 
acteristic of  Germany.  Not  by  chance  did  the  most 
universal  spirits  of  France  emanate  from  the  Normal 
School.  We  think  of  such  men  as  Renan,  Jaures, 
Michelet,  Monod,  and  Rolland. 

Although  during  these  years  Rolland's  chief  interest 
was  directed  towards  philosophy,  although  he  was  a  dili- 
gent student  of  the  pre-Socratic  philosophers  of  ancient 
Greece,  of  the  Cartesians,  and  of  Spinoza,  nevertheless, 
during  the  second  year  of  his  course,  he  chose,  or  was 
intelligently  guided  to  choose,  history  and  geography 
as  his  principal  subjects.  The  choice  was  a  fortunate 
one,  and  was  decisive  for  the  development  of  his  artistic 
life.  Here  he  first  came  to  look  upon  universal  history 
as  an  eternal  ebb  and  flow  of  epochs,  wherein  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  to-morrow  comprise  but  a  single  living  entity. 
He  learned  to  take  broad  views.  He  acquired  his  pre- 
eminent capacity  for  vitalizing  history.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  owes  to  this  same  strenuous  school  of  youth  his 
power  for  contemplating  the  present  from  the  detachment 
of  a  higher  cultural  sphere.  No  other  imaginative 
writer  of  our  time  possesses  anything  like  so  solid  a 
foundation  in  the  form  of  real  and  methodical  knowl- 
edge in  all  domains.  It  may  well  be,  moreover,  that  his 
incomparable  capacity  for  work  was  acquired  during 
these  years  of  seclusion. 

Here  in  the  Prytaneum  (Rolland's  life  is  full  of  such 
mystical  word  plays)  the  young  man  found  a  friend. 
He  also  was  in  the  future  to  be  one  of  the  leading  spirits 
of  France,  one  who,  like  Claudel  and  Rolland  himself. 


14  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

was  not  to  attain  widespread  celebrity  until  the  lapse  of 
a  quarter  of  a  century.  We  should  err  were  we  to  con- 
.sider  it  the  outcome  of  pure  chance  that  the  three  greatest 
i  representatives  of  idealism,  of  the  new  poetic  faith  in 
France,  Paul  Claudel,  Andre  Snares,  and  Charles  Peguy, 
should  in  their  formative  years  have  been  intimate 
friends  of  Romain  Rolland,  and  that  after  long  years  of 
obscurity  they  should  almost  at  the  same  hour  have  ac- 
quired extensive  influence  over  the  French  nation.  In 
their  mutual  converse,  in  their  mysterious  and  ardent 
faith,  were  created  the  elements  of  a  world  which  was 
not  immediately  to  become  visible  through  the  formless 
vapors  of  time.  Though  not  one  of  these  friends  had  as 
yet  a  clear  vision  of  his  goal,  and  though  their  respective 
energies  were  to  leaa  them  along  widely  divergent  paths, 
their  mutual  reactions  strengthened  the  primary  forces 
of  passion  and  of  steadfast  earnestness  to  become  a  sense 
of  all-embracing  world  community.  They  were  inspired 
with  an  identical  mission  to  devote  their  lives,  renouncing 
success  and  pecuniary  reward,  that  by  work  and  appeal 
they  might  help  to  restore  to  their  nation  its  lost  faith. 
Each  one  of  these  four  comrades,  Rolland,  Snares, 
Claudel,  and  Peguy,  has  from  a  diff"erent  intellectual 
standpoint  brought  this  revival  to  his  nation. 

As  in  the  case  of  Claudel  at  the  Lyceum,  so  now  with 
Snares  at  the  Normal  School,  Rolland  was  drawn  to  his 
friend  through  the  love  which  they  shared  for  music,  and 
especially  for  the  music  of  Wagner.  A  further  bond  of 
union  was  the  passion  both  had  for  Shakespeare.  "This 
passion,"  Rolland  has  written,  "was  the  first  link  in  the 


THE  NORMAL  SCHOOL  15 

long  chain  of  our  friendship.  Suares  was  then,  what  he 
has  again  become  to-day  after  traversing  the  numerous 
phases  of  a  rich  and  manifold  nature,  a  man  of  the 
Renaissance.  He  had  the  very  soul,  the  stormy  tempera- 
ment, of  that  epoch.  With  his  long  black  hair,  his  pale 
face,  and  his  burning  eyes,  he  looked  like  an  Italian 
painted  by  Carpaccio  or  Ghirlandajo.  As  a  school  exer- 
cise he  penned  an  ode  to  Cesare  Borgia.  Shakespeare 
was  his  god,  as  Shakespeare  was  mine;  and  we  often 
fought  side  by  side  for  Shakespeare  against  our  profes- 
sors." But  soon  came  a  new  passion  which  partially 
replaced  that  for  the  great  English  dramatist.  There 
ensued  the  "Scythian  invasion,"  an  enthusiastic  affection 
for  Tolstoi,  which  was  likewise  to  be  lifelong.  These 
young  idealists  were  repelled  by  the  trite  naturalism  of 
Zola  and  Maupassant.  They  were  enthusiasts  who 
looked  for  life  to  be  sustained  at  a  level  of  heroic  ten- 
sion. They,  like  Flaubert  and  Anatole  France,  could 
not  rest  content  with  a  literature  of  self  gratification  and 
amusement.  Now,  above  these  trivialities,  was  revealed 
the  figure  of  a  messenger  of  God,  of  one  prepared  to  de- 
vote his  life  to  the  ideal.  "Our  sympathies  went  out  to 
him.  Our  love  for  Tolstoi  was  able  to  reconcile  all  our 
contradictions.  Doubtless  each  one  of  us  loved  him 
from  different  motives,  for  each  one  of  us  found  him- 
self in  the  master.  But  for  all  of  us  alike  he  opened  a 
gate  into  an  infinite  universe ;  for  all  he  was  a  revelation 
of  life."  As  always  since  earliest  childhood,  Rolland 
was  wholly  occupied  in  the  search  for  ultimate  values, 
for  the  hero,  for  the  universal  artist. 


16  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

During  these  years  of  hard  work  at  the  Normal  School, 
Holland  devoured  book  after  book,  writing  after  writing. 
His  teachers,  Brunetiere,  and  above  all  Gabriel  Monod, 
already  recognized  his  peculiar  gift  for  historical  descrip- 
tion.    Holland  was  especially  enthralled  by  the  branch 
of  knowledge  which  Jakob  Burckhardt  had  in  a  sense 
invented  not  long  before,  and  to  which  he  had  given  the 
1^  name  of  "history  of  civilization" — the  spiritual  picture 
•    of  an  entire  era.     As  regards  special  epochs,  Holland's 
interest  was  notably  aroused  by  the  wars  of  religion, 
wherein  the  spiritual  elements  of  faith  were  permeated 
with  the  heroism  of  personal  sacrifice.     Thus  early  do 
the  motifs  of  all  his  creative  work  shape  themselves! 
He  drafted  a  whole  series  of  studies,  and  simultaneously 
planned  a  more  ambitious  work,  ^  history  of  the  heroic 
epoch  of  Catherine  de  Medici.     In  the  scientific  field, 
too,  our  student  was  boldly  attacking  ultimate  problems, 
drinking  in  ideas  thirstily  from  all  the  streamlets  and 
rivers  of  philosophy,  natural  science,  logic,  music,  and 
the  history  of  art.     But  the  burden  of  these  acquirements 
was  no  more  able  to  crush  the  poet  in  him  than  the  weight 
of  a  tree  is  able  to  crush  its  roots.     During  stolen  hours 
he  made  essays  in  poetry  and  music,  which,  however,  he 
has  always  kept  hidden  from  the  world.     In  the  year 
^^1888,  before  leaving  the  Normal  School  to  face  the  ex- 
^         periences  of  actual  life,  he  wrote  Credo  quia  verum. 
This  is  a  remarkable  document,  a  spiritual  testament,  a 
moral  and  philosophical  confession.     It  remains  unpub- 
lished, but  a  friend  of  Holland's  youth  assures  us  that 
it  contains  the  essential  elements  of  his  untrammeled 


THE  NORMAL  SCHOOL  17 

outlook  on  the  world.  Conceived  in  the  Spinozist  spirit, 
based  not  upon  "Cogito  ergo  sum"  but  upon  "Cogito  ergo 
est,"  it  builds  up  the  world,  and  thereon  establishes  its 
god.  For  himself  accountable  to  himself  alone,  he  is 
to  be  freed  in  future  from  the  need  for  metaphysical 
speculation.  As  if  it  were  a  sacred  oath,  duly  sworn,  he 
henceforward  bears  this  confession  with  him  into  the 
struggle ;  if  he  but  remain  true  to  himself,  he  will  be  true 
to  his  vow.  The  foundations  have  been  deeply  dug  and 
firmly  laid.  It  is  time  now  to  begin  the  superstructure. 
Such  were  his  activities  during  these  years  of  study. 
But  through  them  there  already  looms  a  dream,  the 
dream  of  a  romance,  the  history  of  a  single-hearted  artist 
who  bruises  himself  against  the  rocks  of  life.  Here  we 
have  the  larval  stage  of  Jean  Christophe,  the  first  twilit 
sketch  of  the  work  to  come.  But  much  weaving  of  des- 
tiny, many  encounter^and  an  abundance  of  ordeals  will 
be  requisite,  ere  the  multicolored  and  impressive  imago 
will  emerge  from  the  obscurity  of  these  first  intimations. 


CHAPTER  V 

A   MESSAGE    FROM   AFAR 

SCHOOL  days  were  over.  The  old  problem  con- 
cerning the  choice  of  profession  came  up  anew 
for  discussion.  Although  science  had  proved  en- 
riching, although  it  had  aroused  enthusiasm,  it  had  by 
no  means  fulfilled  the  young  artist's  cherished  dream. 
More  than  ever  his  longings  turned  towards  imaginative 
literature  and  towards  music.  His  most  ardent  ambition 
was  still  to  join  the  ranks  of  those  whose  words  and  melo- 
dies unlock  men's  souls;  he  aspired  to  become  a  creator, 
a  consoler.  But  life  seemed  to  demand  orderly  forms, 
discipline  instead  of  freedom,  an  occupation  instead  of  a 
mission.  The  young  man,  now  two-and-twenty  years  of 
age,  stood  undecided  at  the  parting  of  the  ways. 

Then  came  a  message  from  afar,  a  message  from  the 
beloved  hand  of  Leo  Tolstoi.  The  whole  generation 
honored  the  Russian  as  a  leader,  looked  up  to  him  as  the 
embodied  symbol  of  truth.  Iruthis  year  was  published 
Tolstoi's  booklet  What  is  Jo  ocDenc?,  containing  a  fierce 
indictment  of  art.  Contemptuously  he  shattered  all  that 
was  dearest  to  Rolland.  Beethoven,  to  whom  the  young 
Frenchman  daily  addressed  a  fervent  prayer,  was  termed 
a  seducer  to  sensuality.     Shakespeare  was  a  poet  of  the 

18 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  AFAR  19 

fourth  rank,  a  wastrel.  The  whole  of  modem  art  was 
swept  away  like  chaff  from  the  threshing-floor;  the  heart's 
holy  of  holies  was  cast  into  outer  darkness.  This  tract, 
which  rang  through  Europe,  could  be  dismissed  with 
a  smile  by  those  of  an  older  generation;  but  for  the 
young  men  who  revered  Tolstoi  as  their  one  hope  in  a 
lying  and  cowardly  age,  it  stormed  through  their  con- 
sciences like  a  hurricane.  The  bitter  necessity  was  forced 
upon  them  of  choosing  between  Beethoven  and  the  holy 
one  of  their  hearts.  Writing  of  this  hour,  RoUand  says: 
"The  goodness,  the  sincerity,  the  absolute  straightfor- 
wardness of  this  man  made  of  him  for  me  an  infallible 
guide  in  the  prevailing  moral  anarchy.  But  at  the  same 
time,  from  childhood's  days,  I  had  passionately  loved  art. 
Music,  in  especial,  was  my  daily  food;  I  do  not  exagger- 
ate in  saying  that  to  me  music  was  as  much  a  necessary 
of  life  as  bread."  Yet  this  very  music  was  stigmatized 
by  Tolstoi,  the  beloved  teacher,  the  most  human  of  men; 
was  decried  as  "an  enjoyment  that  leads  men  to  neglect 
duty."  Tolstoi  contemned  the  Ariel  of  the  soul  as  a 
seducer  to  sensuality.  What  was  to  be  done?  The 
young  man's  heart  was  racked.  Was  he  to  follow  the 
sage  of  Yasnaya  Polyana,  to  cut  away  from  his  life  all 
will  to  art;  or  was  he  to  follow  the  innermost  call  which 
would  lead  him  to  transfuse  the  whole  of  his  life  with 
music  and  poesy?  He  must  perforce  be  unfaithful, 
either  to  the  most  venerated  among  artists,  or  to  art  itself; 
either  to  the  most  beloved  among  men  or  to  the  most 
beloved  among  ideas. 

In  this  state  of  mental  cleavage,  the  student  now 


20  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

formed  an  amazing  resolve.  Sitting  down  one  day  in 
his  little  attic,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  be  sent  into  the  re- 
mote distances  of  Russia,  a  letter  describing  to  Tolstoi 
the  doubts  that  perplexed  his  conscience.  He  wrote  as 
those  who  despair  pray  to  God,  with  no  hope  for  a 
miracle,  no  expectation  of  an  answer,  but  merely  to 
satisfy  the  burning  need  for  confession.  Weeks  elapsed, 
and  Rolland  had  long  since  forgotten  his  hour  of  impulse. 
But  one  evening,  returning  to  his  room,  he  found  upon 
the  table  a  small  packet.  It  was  Tolstoi's  answer  to  the 
unknown  correspondent,  thirty-eight  pages  written  in 
French,  an  entire  treatise.  This  letter  of  October  14, 
1887,  subsequently  published  by  Peguy  as  No.  4  of  the 
third  series  of  "Cahiers  de  la  quinzaine,''  began  with 
the  affectionate  words,  "Cher  Frere."  First  was  an- 
nounced the  profound  impression  produced  upon  the 
great  man,  to  whose  heart  this  cry  for  help  had  struck. 
"I  have  received  your  first  letter.  It  has  touched  me  to 
the  heart.  I  have  read  it  with  tears  in  my  eyes."  Tol- 
stoi went  on  to  expound  his  ideas  upon  art.  That_alone 
is  ofjyalue,  he  said,  which  binds  men  together;  the  only 
artist  who  counts  is  the  artist  who  makes  a  sacrifice  for 
his  convictions.  The  precondition  of  every  true  calling' 
must  be,  not  love  for  art,  but  love  for  mankind.  Those 
only  who  are  filled  with  such  a  love  can  hope  that  they 
will  ever  be  able,  as  artists,  to  do  anything  worth  doing. 
These  words  exercised  a  decisive  influence  upon  the 
future  of  Romain  Rolland.  But  the  doctrine  summa- 
rized above  has  been  expounded  by  Tolstoi  often  enough, 


(-■-^ 


/ 


/ 


JJL. 


Leo  Tolstoi's  Letter 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  AFAR 


21 


and  expounded  more  clearly.  What  especially  affected 
our  novice  was  the  proof  of  the  sage's  readiness  to  give 
Jiuman  help^  Far  more  than  by  the  words  was  Rolland 
moved  by  the  kindly  deed  of  Tolstoi.  This  man  of 
world-wide  fame,  responding  to  the  appeal  of  a  nameless 
and  unknown  youth,  a  student  in  a  back  street  of  Paris, 
had  promptly  laid  aside  his  own  labors,  had  devoted  a 
whole  day,  or  perhaps  two  days,  to  the  task  of  answering 
and  consoling  his  unknown  brother.  For  Rolland  this 
was  a  vital  experience,  a  deep  and  creative  experience. 
The  remembrance  of  his  own  need,  the  remembrance  of 
the  help  then  received  from  a  foreign  thinker,  taught  him 
to  regard  every  crisis  of  conscience  as  something  sacred, 
and  to  look  upon  the  rendering  of  aid  as  the  artist's  pri- 
mary moral  duty.  From  the  day  he  opened  Tolstoi's 
letter,  he  himself  became  the  great  helper,  the  brotherly 
adviser.  His  whole  work,  his  human  authority,  found 
its  beginnings  here.  Never  since  then,  however  pressing 
the  demands  upon  his  time,  has  he  failed  to  bear  in 
mind  the  help  he  received.  Never  has  he  refused  to 
render  help  to  any  unknown  person  appealing  out  of  a 
genuinely  troubled  conscience.  From  Tolstoi's  letter 
sprang  countless  Rollands,  bringing  aid  and  counsel 
throughout  the  years.  Henceforward,  poesy  was  to  him 
a  sacred  trust,  one  which  he  has  fulfilled  in  the  name  of 
his  master.  Rarely  has  history  borne  more  splendid 
witness  to  the  fact  that  in  the  moral  sphere  no  less  than 
in  the  physical,  force  never  runs  to  waste.  The  hour 
when  Tolstoi  wrote  to  his  unknown  correspondent  has 


/ 


)C 


■sV      t-^ 


A- 


22  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

been  revived  in  a  thousand  letters  from  Holland  to  a 
thousand  unknowns.  An  infinite  quantity  of  seed  is 
to-day  wafted  through  the  world,  seed  that  has  sprung 
from  this  single  grain  of  kindness. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ROME 

FROM  every  quarter,  voices  were  calling:  the 
French  homeland,  German  music,  Tolstoi's  ex- 
hortation, Shakespeare's  ardent  appeal,  the  will 
to  art,  the  need  for  earning  a  livelihood.  While  RoUand 
was  still  hesitating,  his  decision  had  again  to  be  post- 
poned through  the  intervention  of  chance,  the  eternal 
friend  of  artists. 

Every  year  the  Normal  School  provides  traveling 
scholarships  for  some  of  its  best  pupils.  The  term  is 
two  years.  Archeologists  are  sent  to  Greece,  historians 
to  Rome.  Rolland  had  no  strong  desire  for  such  a  mis- 
sion; he  was  too  eager  to  face  the  realities  of  life.  But 
fate  is  apt  to  stretch  forth  her  hand  to  those  who  are  coy. 
Two  of  his  fellow  students  had  refused  the  Roman 
scholarship,  and  Rolland  was  chosen  to  fill  the  vacancy 
almost  against  his  will.  To  his  inexperience,  Rome  still 
seemed  nothing  more  than  dead  past,  a  history  in  shreds 
and  patches,  a  dull  record  which  he  would  have  to  piece 
together  from  inscriptions  and  parchments.  It  was  a 
school  task;  an  imposition,  not  life.  Scanty  were  his  ex- 
pectations when  he  set  forth  on  pilgrimage  to  the  eternal 
city. 

23 


24  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

The  duty  imposed  on  him  was  to  arrange  documents  in 
the  gloomy  Famese  Pallace,  to  cull  history  from  regis- 
ters and  books.  For  a  brief  space  he  paid  due  tribute 
to  this  service,  and  in  the  archives  of  the  Vatican  he  com- 
piled a  memoir  upon  the  nuncio  Salviati  and  the  sack  of 
Rome.  But  ere  long  his  attention  was  concentrated  up- 
on the  living  alone.  His  mind  was  flooded  by  the 
wonderfully  clear  light  of  the  Campagna,  which  reduces 
all  things  to  a  self-evident  harmony,  making  life  appear 
simple  and  giving  it  the  aspect  of  pure  sensation.  For 
many,  the  gentle  grace  of  the  artist's  promised  land  ex- 
ercises an  irresistible  charm.  The  memorials  of  the  Re- 
naissance issue  to  the  wanderer  a  summons  to  greatness. 
In  Italy,  more  strongly  than  elsewhere,  does  it  seem  that 
art  is  the  meaning  of  human  life,  and  that  art  must  be 
man's  heroic  ami.  Throwing  aside  his  theses,  the 
young  man  of  twenty,  mtoxi'cated  with  the  adventure  of 
love  and  of  life,  wandered  for  months  in  blissful  free- 
dom through  the  lesser  cities  of  Italy  and  Sicily.  Even 
Tolstoi  was  forgotten,  for  in  this  region  of  sensuous  pre- 
sentation, in  the  dazzling  south,  the  voice  from  the  Rus- 
sian steppes,  demanding  renunciation,  fell  upon  deaf 
ears.  Of  a  sudden,  however,  Shakespeare,  friend  and 
guide  of  Rolland's  childhood,  resumed  his  sway.  A 
cycle  of  the  Shakespearean  dramas,  presented  by  Er- 
nesto Rossi,  displayed  to  him  the  splendor  of  elemental 
passion,  and  aroused  an  irresistible  longing  to  trans- 
figure, like  Shakespeare,  history  in  poetic  form.  He 
was  moving  day  by  day  among  the  stone  witnesses  to  the 
greatness  of  past  centuries.     He  would  recall  those  cen- 


ROME  25 

turies  to  life.  The  poet  in  him  awakened.  In  cheerful 
faithlessness  to  his  mission,  he  penned  a  series  of 
dramas,  catching  them  on  the  wing  with  that  burning 
ecstacy  which  inspiration,  coming  unawares,  invariably 
arouses  in  the  artist.  Just  as  England  is  presented  in 
Shakespeare's  historical  plays,  so  was  the  whole  Re- 
naissance epoch  to  be  reflected  in  his  own  writings.,'  icX^^' 
Light  of  heart,  in  the  intoxication  of  composition  he  pen- 
ned one  play  after  another,  without  concerning  himself' 
as  to  the  earthly  possibilities  for  staging  them.  Not  one 
of  these  romanticist  dramas  has,  in  fact,  ever  been  per- 
formed. Not  one  of  them  is  to-day  accessible  to  the 
public.  The  maturer  critical  sense  of  the  artist  has 
made  him  hide  them  from  the  world.  He  has  a  fondness 
for  the  faded  manuscripts  simply  as  memorials  of  the 
ardors  of  youth. 

The  most  momentous  experience  of  these  years  spent 
in  Italy  was  the  formation  of  a  new  friendship.  Rolland 
iieYer_spught_£eople  out.     In  essence  he  is  a  solitary,  V^ 

one  who  loves  -best  to  live  among  his  books.  Yet  from 
the  mystical  and  symbolical  outlook  it  is  characteristic 
of  his  biography  that  each  epoch  of  his  youth  brought  him 
into  contact  with  one  or  other  of  the  leading  personalities 
of  the  day.  In  accordance  with  the  mysterious  laws  of 
attraction,  he  has  been  drawn  ever  and  again  into  the 
heroic  sphere,  has  associated  with  the  mighty  ones  of 
the  earth.  Shakespeare,  Mozart,  and  Beethoven  were 
the  stars  of  his  childhood.  During  school  life,  Suares 
and  Claudel  became  his  intimates.  As  a  student,  in  an 
hour  when  he  was  needing  the  help  of  sages,  he  followed 
Renan;  Spinoza  freed  his  mind  in  matters  of  religion; 


y 


26  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

from  afar  came  the  brotherly  greeting  of  Tolstoi.  In 
Rome,  through  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Monod,  he 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Malwida  von  Meysenbug, 
whose  whole  life  had  been  a  contemplation  of  the  heroic 
past.  Wagner,  Nietzsche,  Mazzini,  Herzen,  and  Kossuth 
were  her  perennial  intimates.  For  this  free  spirit,  the 
barriers  of  nationality  and  language  did  not  exist.  No 
revolution  in  art  or  politics  could  affright  her.  "A 
human  magnet,"  she  exercised  an  irresistible  appeal  upon 
great  natures.  When  RoUand  met  her  she  was  already 
an  old  woman,  a  lucid  intelligence,  untroubled  by  disil- 
lusionment, still  an  idealist  as  in  youth.  From  the 
height  of  her  seventy  years,  she  looked  down  over  the 
past,  serene  and  wise.  A  wealth  of  knowledge  and  ex- 
perience streamed  from  her  mind  to  that  of  the  learner. 
Holland  found  in  her  the  same  gentle  illumination,  the 
same  sublime  repose  after  passion,  which  had  endeared 
.  the  Italian  landscape  to  his  mind.  Just  as  from  the 
monuments  and  pictures  of  Italy  he  could  reconstruct  the 
figures  of  the  Renaissance  heroes,  so  from  Malwida's 
confidential  talk  could  he  reconstruct  the  tragedy  in  the 
lives  of  the  artists  she  had  known.  In  Rome  he  learned 
a  just  and  loving  appreciation  for  the  genius  of  the 
•l  present.     His  new  friend  taught  him  what  in  truth  he  had 

^  long  ere  this  learned  unawares  from  within,  that  there  is 

a  lofty  level  of  thought  and  sensation  where  nations  and 
languages  become  as  one  in  the  universal  tongue  of  art. 
During  a  walk  on  the  Janiculum,  a  vision  came  to  him 
of  the  work  of  European  scope  he  was  one  day  to  write, 
the  vision  of  Jean  Christophe. 


ROME  27 

Wonderful  was  the  friendship  between  the  old  German 
woman  and  the  Frenchman  of  twenty-three.  Soon  it  be- 
came difficult  for  either  of  them  to  say  which  was  more 
indebted  to  the  other.  Romain  owed  so  much  to  Mal- 
wida,  in  that  she  had  enabled  him  to  form  juster  views 
of  some  of  her  great  contemporaries;  while  Malwida 
valued  Romain,  because  in  this  enthusiastic  young  artist 
she  discerned  new  possibilities  of  greatness.  The  same 
idealism  animated  both,  tried  and  chastened  in  the  many- 
wintered  woman,  fiery  and  impetuous  in  the  youth. 
Every  day  Rolland  came  to  visit  his  venerable  friend  in 
the  Via  della  Polveriera,  playing  to  her  on  the  piano  the 
works  of  his  favorite  masters.  She,  in  turn,  introduced 
him  to  Roman  society.  Gently  guiding  his  restless  na- 
ture, she  led  him  towards  spiritual  freedom.  In  his 
essay  To  the  Undying  Antigone,  Rolland  tells  us  that  to 
two  women,  his  mother,  a  sincere  Christian,  and  Malwida 
von  Meysenbug,  a  pure  idealist,  he  owes  his  awakening 
to  the  full  significance  of  art  and  of  life.  Malwida, 
writing  in  Der  Lebens  Abend  einer  Idealistin  a  quarter  of 
a  century  before  Rolland  had  attained  celebrity,  ex- 
pressed her  confident  belief  in  his  coming  fame.  We 
cannot  fail  to  be  moved  when  we  read  to-day  the  descrip- 
tion of  Rolland  in  youth:  "My  friendship  with  this 
young  man  was  a  great  pleasure  to  me  in  other  respects 
besides  that  of  music.  For  those  advanced  in  years, 
there  can  be  no  loftier  gratification  than  to  rediscover  in 
the  young  the  same  impulse  towards  idealism,  the  same 
striving  towards  the  highest  aims,  the  same  contempt  for 
all  that  is  vulgar  or  trivial,  the  same  courage  in  the  strug- 


28  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

gle  for  freedom  of  individuality  .  .  .  For  two  years  I 
enjoyed  the  intellectual  companionship  of  young  Rol- 
land  .  .  .  Let  me  repeat,  it  was  not  from  his  musical 
talent  alone  that  my  pleasure  was  derived,  though  here 
he  was  able  to  fill  what  had  long  been  a  gap  in  my  life. 
In  other  intellectual  fields  I  found  him  likewise  con- 
genial. He  aspired  to  the  fullest  possible  development 
of  his  faculties;  whilst  I  myself,  in  his  stimulating  pres- 
ence, was  able  to  revive  youthfulness  of  thought,  to  re- 
discoter  an  intense  interest  in  the  whole  world  of  imagi- 
native beauty.  As  far  as  poesy  is  concerned,  I  gradu- 
ally became  aware  of  the  greatness  of  my  young  friend's 
endowments,  to  be  finally  convinced  of  the  fact  by  the 
reading  of  one  of  his  dramatic  poems."  Speaking  of 
this  early  work,  she  prophetically  declared  that  the  writ- 
er's moral  energy  might  well  be  expected  to  bring  about 
a  regeneration  of  French  imaginative  literature.  In  a 
poem,  finely  conceived  but  a  trifle  sentimental,  she  ex- 
pressed her  thankfulness  for  the  experience  of  these  two 
years.  Malwida  had  recognized  Romain  as  her  Euro- 
pean brother,  just  as  Tolstoi  had  recognized  a  disciple. 
Twenty  years  before  the  world  had  heard  of  Rolland,  his 
life  was  moving  on  heroic  paths.  Greatness  cannot  be 
hid.  When  any  one  is  bom  to  greatness,  the  past  and 
the  present  send  him  images  and  figures  to  serve  as 
exhortation  and  example.  From  every  country  and 
from  every  race  of  Europe,  voices  rise  to  greet  the  man 
who  is  one  day  to  speak  for  them  all. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    CONSECRATION 

THE  two  years  in  Italy,  a  time  of  free  receptivity 
and  creative  enjoyment,  were  over.  A  summons 
now  came  from  Paris;  the  Normal  School,  which 
Rolland  had  left  as  pupil,  required  his  services  as 
teacher.  The  parting  was  a  wrench,  and  Malwida  von 
Meysenbug's  farewell  was  designed  to  convey  a  sym- 
bolical meaning.  She  invited  her  young  friend  to  ac- 
company her  to  Bayreuth,  the  chief  sphere  of  the  activi- 
ties of  the  man  who,  with  Tolstoi,  had  been  the  leading 
inspiration  of  Rolland  during  early  youth,  the  man  whose 
image  had  been  endowed  with  more  vigorous  life  by 
Malwida's  memories  of  his  personality.  Rolland  wan- 
dered on  foot  across  Umbria,  to  meet  his  friend  in 
Venice.  Together  they  visited  the  palace  in  which  Wag- 
ner had  died,  and  thence  journeyed  northward  to  the 
scene  of  his  life's  work.  "My  aim,"  writes  Malwida  in 
her  characteristic  style,  which  seldom  attains  strong  emo- 
tional force,  but  is  none  the  less  moving,  "was  that  Ro- 
main  should  have  these  sublime  impressions  to  close 
his  years  in  Italy  and  the  fecund  epoch  of  youth.  I 
likewise  wished  the  experience  to  be  a  consecration  upon 
the  threshold  of  manhood,  with  its  prospective  labors 
and  its  inevitable  struggles  and  disillusionments." 

29 


30  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

Olivier  had  entered  the  country  of  Jean  Christophe! 
On  the  first  morning  of  their  arrival,  before  introducing 
her  friend  at  Wahnfried,  Malwida  took  him  into  the  gar- 
den to  see  the  master's  grave.  Rolland  uncovered  as  if 
in  church,  and  the  two  stood  for  a  while  in  silence  medi- 
tating on  the  hero,  to  one  of  them  a  friend,  to  the  other 
a  leader.  In  the  evening  they  went  to  hear  Wagner's 
posthumous  work  Parsifal.  This  composition,  which, 
like  the  visit  to  Bayreuth,  is  strangely  interconnected  with 
the  genesis  of  Jean  Christophe,  is  as  it  were  a  consecra- 
tional  prelude  to  Rolland's  future.  For  life  was  now  to 
call  him  from  these  great  dreams.  Malwida  gives  a 
moving  description  of  their  good-by.  "My  friends  had 
kindly  placed  their  box  at  my  disposal.  Once  more  I 
went  to  hear  Parsifal  with  Rolland,  who  was  about  to 
return  to  France  in  order  to  play  an  active  part  in  the 
work  of  life.  It  was  a  matter  of  deep  regret  to  me  that 
this  gifted  friend  was  not  free  to  lift  himself  to  'higher 
spheres,'  that  he  could  not  ripen  from  youth  to  manhood 
while  wholly  devoted  to  the  unfolding  of  his  artistic  im- 
pulses. But  I  knew  that  none  the  less  he  would  work  at 
the  roaring  loom  of  time,  weaving  the  living  garment  of 
divinity.  The  tears  with  which  his  eyes  were  filled  at  the 
close  of  the  opera  made  me  feel  once  more  that  my  faith 
in  him  would  be  justified.  Thus  I  bade  him  farewell 
with  heartfelt  thanks  for  the  time  filled  with  poesy  which 
his  talents  had  bestowed  on  me.  I  dismissed  him  with 
the  blessing  that  age  gives  to  youth  entering  upon  life." 

Although  an  epoch  that  had  been  rich  for  both  was  now 
closed,  their  friendship  was  by  no  means  over.     For 


THE  CONSECRATION  31 

years  to  come,  down  to  the  end  of  her  life,  Holland  wrote 
to  Malwida  once  a  week.  These  letters,  which  were  re- 
turned to  him  after  her  death,  contain  a  biography  of  his 
early  manhood  perhaps  fuller  than  that  which  is  avail- 
able in  the  case  of  any  other  notable  personality.  Ines- 
timable was  the  value  of  what  he  had  learned  from  this 
encounter.  He  had  now  acquired  an  extensive  knowl- 
edge of  reality  and  an  unlimited  sense  of  human  con- 
tinuity. Whereas  he  had  gone  to  Rome  to  study  the 
art  of  the  dead  past,  he  had  found  the  living  Germany, 
and  could  enjoy  the  companionship  of  her  undying 
heroes.  The  triad  of  poesy,  music,  and  science,  har- 
monizes unconsciously  with  that  other  triad,  France, 
Germany,  and  Italy.  Once  and  for  all,  Holland  had  ac- 
quired the  European  spirit.  Before  he  had  written  a 
line  of  Jean  Christophe,  that  great  epic  was  already  liv- 
ing in  his  blood. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

YEARS    OF   APPRENTICESHIP 

THE  form  of  Rolland's  career,  no  less  than  the 
substance  of  his  inner  life,  was  decisively  fash- 
ioned by  these  two  years  in  Italy.  As  happened 
in  Goethe's  case,  so  in  that  with  which  we  are  now  con- 
cerned, the  conflict  of  the  will  was  harmonized  amid  the 
sublime  clarity  of  the  southern  landscape.  Rolland  had 
gone  to  Rome  with  his  mind  still  undecided.  By  genius, 
he  was  a  musician;  by  inclination,  a  poet;  by  necessity, 
a  historian.  Little  by  little,  a  magical  union  had  been 
effected  between  music  and  poesy.  In  his  first  dramas, 
the  phrasing  is  permeated  with  lyrical  melody.  Simul- 
aneously,  behind  the  winged  words,  his  historic  sense  had 
built  up  a  mighty  scene  out  of  the  rich  hues  of  the  past. 
After  the  success  of  his  thesis  Les  origines  du  theatre 
lyrique  moderns  {Histoire  de  I'opera  en  Europe  avant 
Lully  et  Scarlatti),  he  became  professor  of  the  history  of 
music,  first  at  the  Normal  School,  and  from  1903  on- 
wards at  the  Sorbonne.  The  aim  he  set  before  himself 
was  to  display  "Teternelle  floraison,"  the  sempiternal 
blossoming,  of  music  as  an  endless  series  through  the 
ages,  while  each  age  none  the  less  puts  forth  its  own 

characteristic  shoots.     Discovering  for  the  first  time  what 

32 


YEARS  OF  APPRENTICESHIP  33 

was  to  be  henceforward  his  favorite  theme,  he  showed 
how,  in  this  apparently  abstract  sphere,  the  nations  culti- 
vate their  individual  characteristics,  while  never  ceasing 
to  develop  unawares  the  higher  unity  wherein  time  and 
national  differences  are  unknown.  A  great  power  for 
understanding  others,  in  association  with  the  faculty  for 
writing  so  as  to  be  readily  understood,  constitutes  the  es- 
sence of  his  activities.  Here,  moreover,  in  the  element 
with  which  he  was  most  familiar,  his  emotional  force  was 
singularly  effective.  More  than  any  teacher  before  him 
did  he  make  the  science  he  had  to  convey,  a  living  thing. 
Dealing  with  the  invisible  entity  of  music,  he  showed  that 
the  greatness  of  mankind  is  never  concentrated  in  a  sin- 
gle age,  nor  exclusively  allotted  to  a  single  nation,  but  is 
transmitted  from  age  to  age  and  from  nation  to  nation. 
Thus  like  a  torch  does  it  pass  from  one  master  to  another, 
a  torch  that  will  never  be  extinguished  while  human  be- 
ings continue  to  draw  the  breath  of  inspiration.  There 
are  no  contradictions,  there  is  no  cleavage,  in  art.  "His- 
tory must  take  for  its  object  the  living  unity  of  the  human 
spirit.  Consequently,  history  is  compelled  to  maintain 
the  tie  between  all  the  thoughts  of  the  human  spirit." 

Many  of  those  who  heard  RoUand's  lectures  at  the 
School  of  Social  Science  and  at  the  Sorbonne,  still  speak 
of  them  to-day  with  undiminished  gratitude.  Only  in  a 
formal  sense  was  history  the  topic  of  these  discourses, 
and  science  was  merely  their  foundation.  It  is  true  that 
Rolland,  side  by  side  with  his  universal  reputation,  has  a 
reputation  among  specialists  in  musical  research  for  hav- 
ing discovered  the  manuscript  of  Luigi  Rossi's  Orfeo, 


34  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

and  for  having  been  the  first  to  do  justice  to  the  forgotten 
Francesco  Provenzale  (the  teacher  of  Alessandro  Scar- 
latti who  founded  the  Neapolitan  school).     But  their 
broad  humanist  scope,  their  encyclopedic  outlook,  makes 
his  lectures  on  The  Beginnings  of  Opera  frescoes  of 
whilom   civilizations.     In   interludes   of   speaking,    he 
would  give  music  voice,  playing  on  the  piano  long-lost 
airs,  so  that  in  the  very  Paris  where  they  first  blossomed 
three  hundred  years  before,  their  silvery  tones  were  now 
reawakened  from  dust  and  parchment.     At  this  date, 
while  Rolland  was  still  quite  young,  he  began  to  exercise 
,   upon  his  fellows  that  clarifying,  guiding,  inspiring,  and 
formative  influence,  which  since  then,  increasingly  rein- 
/,   forced  by  the  power  of  his  imaginative  writings  and 
spread  by  these  into  ever  widening  circles,  has  become 
immeasurable  in  its  extent.     Nevertheless,  throughout 
its  expansion,  this  force  has  remained  true  to  its  primary 
aim.     From  first  to  last,  Rolland's  leading  thought  has 
been  to  display,  amid  all  the  forms  of  man's  past  and 
man's  present,  the  things  that  are  really  great  in  human 
^      *  \  personality,  and  the  unity  of  all  single-hearted  endeavor. 
It  is  obvious  that  Romain  Rolland's  passion  for  music 
could  not  be  restricted  within  the  confines  of  history. 
He  could  never  become  a  specialist.     The  limitations  in- 
volved in  the  career  of  such  experts  are  utterly  uncon- 
genial to  his  synthetic  temperament.     For  him  the  past 
,s  but  a  preparation  for  the  present;  what  has  been  merely 
provides  the  possibility  for  increasing  comprehension  of 
the  future.     Thus  side  by  side  with  his  learned  theses 
and  with  his  volumes  Musiciens  d'autrefois,  Haendel, 


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YEARS  OF  APPRENTICESHIP  35 

Histoire  de  VOpera,  etc.,  we  have  his  Musiciens  d'aujour- 
d'hui,  a  collection  of  essays  which  were  first  published  in 
the  "'Revue  de  Paris"  and  the  "Revue  de  ran  dra- 
matique,"  essays  penned  by  Rolland  as  champion  of  the 
modern  and  the  unknown.  This  collection  contains  the 
first  portrait  of  Hugo  Wolf  ever  published  in  France, 
together  with  striking  presentations  of  Richard  Strauss 
and  Debussy.  He  was  never  weary  of  looking  for  new 
creative  forces  in  European  music;  he  went  to  the  Stras- 
burg  musical  festival  to  hear  Gustav  Mahler,  and  visited 
Bonn  to  attend  the  Beethoven  festival.  Nothing  seemed 
alien  to  his  eager  pursuit  of  knowledge;  his  sense  of 
justice  was  all-embracing.  From  Catalonia  to  Scan- 
dinavia he  listened  for  every  new  wave  in  the  ocean  of 
music.  He  was  no  less  at  home  with  the  spirit  of  the 
present  than  with  the  spirit  of  the  past. 

During  these  years  of  activity  as  teacher,  he  learned 
much  from  life.  New  circles  were  opened  to  him  in  the 
Paris  which  hitherto  he  had  known  little  of  except  from 
the  window  of  his  lonely  study.  His  position  at  the  uni- 
versity and  his  marriage  brought  the  man  who  had 
hitherto  associated  only  with  a  few  intimates  and  with 
distant  heroes,  into  contact  with  intellectual  and  social 
life.  In  the  house  of  his  father-in-law,  the  distinguished 
philologist  Michel  Breal,  he  became  acquainted  with  the 
leading  lights  of  the  Sorbonne.  Elsewhere,  in  the  draw- 
ing-rooms, he  moved  among  financiers,  bourgeois,  offi- 
cials, persons  drawn  from  all  strata  of  city  life,  includ- 
ing the  cosmopolitans  who  are  always  to  be  found  in 
Paris.     Involuntarily,  during  these  years,  Rolland  the 


36  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

romanticist  became  an  observer.  His  idealism,  without 
forfeiting  intensity,  gained  critical  strength.  The  ex- 
periences garnered  (it  might  be  better  to  say,  the  disil- 
lusionments  sustained)  in  these  contacts,  all  this  medley 
of  commonplace  life,  were  to  form  the  basis  of  his  subse- 
quent descriptions  of  the  Parisian  world  in  La  foire  sur 
la  place  and  Dans  la  maison.  Occasional  journeys  to 
Germany,  Switzerland,  Austria,  and  his  beloved  Italy, 
gave  him  opportunities  for  comparison,  and  provided 
fresh  knowledge.  More  and  more,  the  growing  horizon 
of  modem  culture  came  to  occupy  his  thoughts,  thus  dis- 
placing the  science  of  history.  The  wanderer  returned 
from  Europe  had  discovered  his  home,  had  discovered 
Paris ;  the  historian  had  found  the  most  important  epoch 
for  living  men  and  women — the  present. 


CHAPTER  IX 

YEARS   OF   STRUGGLE 

ROLLAND  was  now  a  man  of  thirty,  with  his  ener- 
gies at  their  prime.  He  was  inspired  with  a 
restrained  passion  for  activity.  In  all  times 
and  scenes,  alike  in  the  past  and  in  the  present,  his  in- 
spiration discerned  greatness.  The  impulse  now  grew 
strong  within  him  to  give  his  imaginings  life. 

But  this  will  to  greatness  encountered  a  season  of  petty 
things.  At  the  date  when  Holland  began  his  life  work, 
the  mighty  figures  of  French  literature  had  already 
passed  from  the  stage:  Victor  Hugo,  with  his  indefatig- 
able summons  to  idealism;  Flaubert,  the  heroic  worker; 
Renan,  the  sage.  The  stars  of  the  neighboring  heaven, 
Richard  Wagner  and  Friedrich  Nietzsche,  had  set  or  be- 
come obscured.  Extant  art,  even  the  serious  art  of  a 
Zola  or  a  Maupassant,  was  devoted  to  the  commonplace; 
it  created  only  in  the  image  of  a  corrupt  and  enfeebled 
generation.  Political  life  had  become  paltry  and  supine. 
Philosophy  was  stereotyped  and  abstract.  There  was  no 
longer  any  common  bond  to  unite  the  elements  of  the 
nation,  for  its  faith  had  been  shattered  for  decades  to 
come  by  the  defeat  of  1870.     Rolland  aspired  to  bold 

ventures,  but  his  world  would  have  none  of  them.     He 

37 


38  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

was  a  fighter,  but  his  world  desired  an  easy  life.  He 
wanted  fellowship,  but  all  that  his  world  wanted  was 
enjoyment. 

Suddenly  a  storm  burst  over  the  country.  France  was 
stirred  to  the  depths.  The  entire  nation  became  en- 
grossed in  an  intellectual  and  moral  problem.  Rolland, 
a  bold  swimmer,  was  one  of  the  first  to  leap  into  the 
turbulent  flood.  Betwixt  night  and  morning,  the  Dreyfus 
affair  rent  France  in  twain.  There  were  no  abstention- 
ists ;  there  was  no  calm  contemplation.  The  finest  among 
Frenchmen  were  the  hottest  partisans.  For  two  years 
the  country  was  severed  as  by  a  knife  blade  into  two 
camps,  that  of  those  whose  verdict  was  "guilty,"  and  that 
of  those  whose  verdict  was  "not  guilty."  In  Jean  Chris- 
tophe  and  in  Peguy's  reminiscences,  we  learn  how  the 
section  cut  pitilessly  athwart  families,  dividing  brother 
from  brother,  father  from  son,  friend  from  friend.  To- 
day we  find  it  difficult  to  understand  how  this  accusation 
of  espionage  brought  against  an  artillery  captain  could 
involve  all  France  in  a  crisis.  The  passions  aroused 
transcended  the  immediate  cause  to  invade  the  whole 
sphere  of  mental  life.  Every  Frenchman  was  faced  by 
a  problem  of  conscience,  was  compelled  to  make  a  deci- 
sion between  fatherland  and  justice.  Thus  with  explo- 
sive energy  the  moral  forces  were,  for  all  right-thinking 
minds,  dragged  into  the  vortex.  Rolland  was  among  the 
few  who  from  the  very  outset  insisted  that  Dreyfus  was 
innocent.  The  apparent  hopelessness  of  these  early  en- 
deavors to  secure  justice  were  for  Rolland  a  spur  to 
conscience.     Whereas  Peguy  was  enthralled  by  the  mys- 


YEARS  OF  STRUGGLE  39 

tical  power  of  the  problem,  which  would  he  hoped  bring 
about  a  moral  purification  of  his  country,  and  while  in 
conjunction  with  Bernard  Lazare  he  wrote  propagandist 
pamphlets  calculated  to  add  fuel  to  the  flames,  Rol- 
land's  energies  were  devoted  to  the  consideration  of  the 
immanent  problem  of  justice.  Under  the  pseudonym 
Saint-Just  he  published  a  dramatic  parable,  Les  loups, 
wherein  he  lifted  the  problem  from  the  realm  of  time  into 
the  realm  of  the  eternal.  This  was  played  to  an  en- 
thusiastic audience,  among  which  were  Zola,  Scheurer- 
Kestner,  and  Picquart.  The  more  definitely  political  the"^ 
trial  became,  the  more  evident  was  it  that  the  freemasons, 
the  anti-clericalists,  and  the  socialists  were  using  the  af- 
fair to  secure  their  own  ends;  and  the  more  the  question 
of  material  success  replaced  the  question  of  the  ideal,  the 
more  did  Rolland  withdraw  from  active  participation. 
His  enthusiasm  is  devoted  only  to  spiritual  matters,  to  j 
problems,  to  lost  causes.  In  the  Dreyfus  affair,  just  as  | 
later,  it  was  his  glory  to  have  been  one  of  the  first  to  take 
up  arms,  and  to  have  been  a  solitary  champion  in  a  his- ^ 
toric  moment. 

Simultaneously,  Rolland  was  working  shoulder  to 
shoulder  with  Peguy,  and  with  Suares  the  friend  of  his 
adolescence,  in  a  new  campaign.  This  differed  from 
the  championship  of  Dreyfus  in  that  it  was  not  stormy 
and  clamorous,  but  involved  a  tranquil  heroism  which 
made  it  resemble  rather  the  way  of  the  cross.  The 
friends  were  painfully  aware  of  the  corruption  and 
triviality  of  the  literature  then  dominant  in  Paris.  To 
attempt  a  direct  attack  would  have  been  fruitless,  for 


'40  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

this  hydra  had  the  whole  periodical  press  at  its  Service. 
Nowhere  was  it  possible  to  inflict  a  mortal  blow  upon 
the  many-headed  and  thousand-armed  entity.  They  re- 
solved, therefore,  to  work  against  it,  not  with  its  own 
means,  not  by  imitating  its  own  noisy  activities,  but  by 
the  force  of  moral  example,  by  quiet  sacrifice  and  in- 
vincible patience.  For  fifteen  years  they  wrote  and 
edited  the  "Cahiers  de  la  quinzaineJ"  Not  a  centime 
was  spent  on  advertising  it,  and  it  was  rarely  to  be  found 
on  sale  at  any  of  the  usual  agents.  It  was  read  by  stu- 
dents and  by  a  few  men  of  letters,  by  a  small  circle  grow- 
ing imperceptibly.  Throughout  an  entire  decade,  all 
Holland's  works  appeared  in  its  pages,  the  whole  of  Jean 
Christophe,  Beethoven,  Michel- Ange,  and  the  plays. 
Though  during  this  epoch  the  author's  financial  position 
was  far  from  easy,  he  received  nothing  for  any  of  these 
writings — the  case  is  perhaps  unexampled  in  modern 
literature.  To  fortify  their  idealism,  to  set  an  example 
to  others,  these  heroic  figures  renounced  the  chance  of 
publicity,  circulation,  and  remuneration  for  their  writ- 
ings; they  renounced  the  holy  trinity  of  the  literary  faith. 
And  when  at  length,  through  Holland's,  Peguy's,  and 
Snares'  tardily  achieved  fame,  the  "Cahiers"  had  come 
into  its  own,  its  publication  was  discontinued.  But  it 
remains  an  imperishable  monument  of  French  idealism 
and  artistic  comradeship. 

A  third  time  Holland's  intellectual  ardor  led  him  to 
try  his  mettle  in  the  field  of  action.  A  third  time,  for  a 
space,  did  he  enter  into  a  comradeship  that  he  might 
fashion  life  out  of  life.     A  group  of  young  men  had 


YEARS  OF  STRUGGLE  41 

come  to  recognize  the  futility  and  harmfulness  of  the 
French  boulevard  drama,  whose  central  topic  is  the  eter- 
nal recurrence  of  adultery  issuing  from  the  tedium  of 
bourgeois  existence.  They  determined  upon  an  attempt 
to  restore  the  drama  to  the  people,  to  the  proletariat,  and 
thus  to  furnish  it  with  new  energies.  Impetuously  Rol- 
land  threw  himself  into  the  scheme,  writing  essays,  mani- 
festoes, an  entire  book.  Above  all,  he  contributed  a 
series  of  plays  conceived  in  the  spirit  of  the  French  revo- 
lution and  composed  for  its  glorification.  Jaures  de- 
livered a  speech  introducing  Danton  to  the  French  work- 
ers. The  other  plays  were  likewise  staged.  But  the 
daily  press,  obviously  scenting  a  hostile  force,  did  its 
utmost  to  chill  the  enthusiasm.  The  other  participators 
soon  lost  their  zeal,  so  that  ere  long  the  fine  impetus  of 
the  young  group  was  spent.  Rolland  was  left  alone, 
richer  in  experience  and  disillusionment,  but  not  poorer! 
in  faith. 

Although  by  sentiment  Rolland  is  attached  to  all 
great  movements,  the  inner  man  has  ever  remained  free 
from  ties.  He  gives  his  energies  to  help  others'  efforts, 
but  never  follows  blindly  in  others'  footsteps.  Whatever 
creative  work  he  has  attempted  in  common  with  others 
has  been  a  disappointment;  the  fellowship  has  been 
clouded  by  the  universality  of  human  frailty.  The 
Dreyfus  case  was  subordinated  to  political  scheming;  the 
People's  Theater  was  wrecked  by  jealousies;  Rolland's 
plays,,  written  for  the  workers,  were  staged  but  for  a 
night;  his  wedded  life  came  to  a  sudden  and  disastrous 
end — hue  nothing  could   shatter  his  idealism.     When 


42  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

contemporary  existence  could  not  be  controlled  by  the 
forces  of  the  spirit,  he  still  retained  his  faith  in  the 
spirit.  In  hours  of  disillusionment  he  called  up  the 
images  of  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  who  conquered 
mourning  by  action,  who  conquered  life  by  art.  He  left 
the  theater,  he  renounced  the  professorial  chair,  he  re- 
tired from  the  world.  Since  life  repudiated  his  single- 
hearted  endeavors  he  would  transfigure  life  in  gracious 
pictures.  His  disillusionments  had  but  been  further 
experience.  During  the  ensuing  ten  years  of  solitude  he 
wrote  Jean  Christophe,  a  work  which  in  the  ethical  sense 
is  more  truly  real  than  reality  itself,  a  work  which  em- 
bodies the  living  faith  of  his  generation. 


CHAPTER  X 

A   DECADE    OF   SECLUSION 

FOR  a  brief  season  the  Parisian  public  was  fa- 
miliar with  Remain  Rolland's  name  as  that  of 
a  musical  expert  and  a  promising  dramatist. 
Thereafter  for  years  he  disappeared  from  view,  for  the 
capital  of  France  excels  all  others  in  its  faculty  for  mer- 
ciless forgetfulness.  He  was  never  spoken  of  even  in 
literary  circles,  although  poets  and  other  men  of  letters 
might  be  expected  to  be  the  best  judges  of  the  values  in 
which  they  deal.  If  the  curious  reader  should  care  to 
turn  over  the  reviews  and  anthologies  of  the  period,  to 
examine  the  histories  of  literature,  he  will  find  not  a 
word  of  the  man  who  had  already  written  a  dozen  plays, 
had  composed  wonderful  biographies,  and  had  published 
six  volumes  of  Jean  Christophe.  The  "Cahiers  de  la 
quinzaine"  were  at  once  the  birthplace  and  the  tomb  of 
his  writings.  He  was  a  stranger  in  the  city  at  the  very 
time  when  he  was  describing  its  mental  life  with  a  pic- 
turesqueness  and  comprehensiveness  which  has  never 
been  equaled.  At  forty  years  of  age,  he  had  won 
neither  fame  nor  pecuniary  reward;  he  seemed  to  pos- 
sess no  influence;  he  was  not  a  living  force.  At  the 
opening  of  the  twentieth  century,  like  Charles  Louis 

43 


44  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Philippe,  like  Verhaeren,  like  Claudel,  and  like  Suares, 
in  truth  the  strongest  writers  of  the  time,  Holland  re- 
mained unrecognized  when  he  was  at  the  zenith  of  his 
creative  powers.  In  his  own  person  he  experienced  the 
fate  which  he  has  depicted  in  such  moving  terms,  the 
tragedy  of  French  idealism. 

A  period  of  seclusion  is,  however,  needful  as  a  pre- 
liminary to  labors  of  such  concentration.  Force  must 
develop  in  solitude  before  it  can  capture  the  world. 
Only  a  man  prepared  to  ignore  the  public,  only  a  man 
animated  with  heroic  indifference  to  success,  could  ven- 
ture upon  the  forlorn  hope  of  planning  a  romance  in  ten 
volumes;  a  French  romance  which,  in  an  epoch  of  ^ 
exacerbated  nationalism,  was  to  have  a  German  for  its 
hero.  In  such  detachment  alone  could  this  universality 
of  knowledge  shape  itself  into  a  literary  creation.  No- 
where but  aimd  tranquillity  undisturbed  by  the  noise  of 
the  crowd  could  a  work  of  such  vast  scope  be  brought  to 
fruition. 

For  a  decade  Holland  seemed  to  have  vanished  from 
the  French  literary  world.  Mystery  enveloped  him,  the 
mystery  of  toil.  Through  all  these  long  years  his  . 
cloistered  labors  represented  the  hidden  stage  of  the 
chrysalis,  from  which  the  imago  is  to  issue  in  winged 
glory.  It  was  a  period  of  much  suffering,  a  period  of 
silence,  a  period  characterized  by  knowledge  of  the 
world — the  knowledge  of  a  man  whom  the  world  did  not 
yet  know. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A    PORTRAIT 

TWO  tiny  little  rooms,  attic  rooms  in  the  heart  of 
Paris,  on  the  fifth  story,  reached  by  a  winding 
wooden  stair.  From  below  comes  the  muffled 
roar,  as  of  a  distant  storm,  rising  from  the  Boulevard 
Montparnasse.  Often  a  glass  shakes  on  the  table  as  a 
heavy  motor  omnibus  thunders  by.  The  windows  com- 
mand a  view  across  less  lofty  houses  into  an  old  convent 
garden.  In  springtime  the  perfume  of  flowers  is  wafted 
through  the  open  window.  No  neighbors  on  this  story; 
no  service.  Nothing  beyond  the  help  of  the  concierge, 
an  old  woman  who  protects  the  hermit  from  untimely 
visitors. 

The  workroom  is  full  of  books.  They  climb  up  the 
walls,  and  are  piled  in  heaps  on  the  floor;  they  spread 
like  creepers  over  the  window  seat,  over  the  chairs  and 
the  table.  Interspersed  are  manuscripts.  The  walls  are 
adorned  with  a  few  engravings.  We  see  photographs  of 
friends,  and  a  bust  of  Beethoven.  The  deal  table  stands 
near  the  window;  two  chairs,  a  small  stove.  Nothing 
costly  in  the  narrow  cell;  nothing  which  could  tempt  to 
repose;  nothing  to  encourage  sociability.  A  student's 
den ;  a  little  prison  of  labor. 

45 


46  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

Amid  the  books  sits  the  gentle  monk  of  this  cell, 
soberly  clad  like  a  clergyman.  He  is  slim,  tall,  deli- 
cate looking;  his  complexion  is  sallow,  like  that  of  one 
who  is  rarely  in  the  open.  His  face  is  lined,  suggesting 
that  here  is  a  worker  who  spends  few  hours  in  sleep. 
His  whole  aspect  is  somewhat  fragile — the  sharply-cut 
profile  which  no  photograph  seems  to  reproduce  per- 
fectly; the  small  hands,  his  hair  silvering  already  behind 
the  lofty  brow;  his  moustache  falling  softly  like  a 
shadow  over  the  thin  lips.  Everything  about  him 
is  gentle:  his  voice  in  its  rare  utterances;  his  figure 
which,  even  in  repose,  shows  the  traces  of  his  sedentary 
life;  his  gestures,  which  are  always  restrained;  his  slow 
gait.  His  whole  personality  radiates  gentleness.  The 
casual  observer  might  derive  the  impression  that  the 
man  is  debilitated  or  extremely  fatigued,  were  it  not 
for  the  way  in  which  the  eyes  flash  ever  and  again  from 
beneath  the  slightly  reddened  eyelids,  to  relapse  always 
into  their  customary  expression  of  kindliness.  The  eyes 
have  a  blue  tint  as  of  deep  waters  of  exceptional  purity. 
That  is  why  no  photograph  can  convey  a  just  impres- 
sion of  one  in  whose  eyes  the  whole  force  of  his  soul 
seems  to  be  concentrated.  The  face  is  inspired  with 
life  by  the  glance,  just  as  the  small  and  frail  body 
radiates  the  mysterious  energy  of  work. 

This  work,  the  unceasing  labor  of  a  spirit  imprisoned 
in  a  body,  imprisoned  within  narrow  walls  during  all 
these  years,  who  can  measure  it?  The  written  books 
are  but  a  fraction  of  it.  The  ardor  of  our  recluse  is 
all-embracing,  reaching  forth  to  include  the  cultures  of 


A  PORTRAIT  47 

every  tongue,  the  history,  philosophy,  poesy,  and  music 
of  every  nation.  He  is  in  touch  with  all  endeavors. 
He  receives  sketches,  letters,  and  reviews  concerning 
everything.  He  is  one  who  thinks  as  he  writes,  speak- 
ing to  himself  and  to  others  while  his  pen  moves  over 
the  paper.  With  his  small,  upright  handwriting  in 
which  all  the  letters  are  clearly  and  powerfully  formed, 
he  permanently  fixes  the  thoughts  that  pass  through  his 
mind,  whether  spontaneously  arising  or  coming  from 
without;  he  records  the  airs  of  past  and  recent  times, 
noting  them  down  in  manuscript  books;  he  makes  ex- 
tracts from  newspapers,  drafts  plans  for  future  work; 
his  thriftily  collected  hoard  of  these  autographic  intel- 
lectual goods  is  enormous.  The  flame  of  his  labor 
burns  unceasingly.  Rarely  does  he  take  more  than  five 
hours'  sleep;  seldom  does  he  go  for  a  stroll  in  the  ad- 
joining Luxembourg;  infrequently  does  a  friend  climb 
the  five  flights  of  winding  stair  for  an  hour's  quiet  talk; 
even  such  journeys  as  he  undertakes  are  mostly  for  pur- 
poses of  research.  Repose  signifies  for  him  a  change 
of  occupation;  to  write  letters  instead  of  books,  to  read 
philosophy  instead  of  poetry.  His  solitude  is  an  ac- 
tive communing  with  the  world.  His  free  hours  are  his 
only  holiday,  stolen  from  the  long  days  when  he  sits 
in  the  twilight  at  the  piano,  holding  converse  with  the 
great  masters  of  music,  drawing  melodies  from  other 
worlds  into  this  confined  space  which  is  itself  a  world 
of  the  creative  spirit. 


CHAPTER  XII 

RENOWN 

WE  are  in  the  year  1910.  A  motor  is  tearing 
along  the  Champs  Elysees,  outrunning  the 
belated  warnings  of  its  own  hooter.  There 
is  a  cry,  and  a  man  who  was  incautiously  crossing  the 
street  lies  beneath  the  wheels.  He  is  borne  away 
wounded  and  with  broken  limbs,  to  be  nursed  back  to 
life. 

Nothing  can  better  exemplify  the  slenderness,  as  yet, 
of  Romain  Rolland's  fame,  than  the  reflection  how 
little  his  death  at  this  juncture  would  have  signified  to 
the  literary  world.  There  would  have  been  a  paragraph 
or  two  in  the  newspapers  informing  the  public  that  the 
sometime  professor  of  musical  history  at  the  Sorbonne 
had  succumbed  after  being  run  over  by  a  motor.  A 
few,  perhaps,  would  have  remembered  that  fifteen  years 
earlier  this  man  Rolland  had  written  promising  dramas, 
and  books  on  musical  topics.  Among  the  innumerable 
inhabitants  of  Paris,  scarce  a  handful  would  have  known 
anything  of  the  deceased  author.  Thus  ignored  was  Ro- 
main Rolland  two  years  before  he  obtained  a  European 
reputation;  thus  nameless  was  he  when  he  had  finished 

most  of  the  works  which  were  to  make  him  a  leader  of 

48 


RENOWN  49 

our  generation — the  dozen  or  so  dramas,  the  biographies 
of  the  heroes,  and  the  first  eight  volumes  of  Jean 
Christophe. 

A   wonderful   thing  is   fame,   wonderful  its   eternal  ^ 
multiplicity.     Every  reputation  has  peculiar  character-  / 
istics,  independent  of  the  man  to  whom  it  attaches,  and 
yet  appertaining  to  him  as  his  destiny.     Fame  may  be  S  f  A-^ti" 
wise  and  it  may  be  foolish;  it  may  be  deserved  and  it    \ 
may  be  undeserved.     On  the  one  hand  it  may  be  easily    \ 
attained  and  brief,  flashing  transiently  like  a  meteor;  on     \ 
the  other  hand  it  may  be  tardy,  slow  in  blossoming,  fol-     / 
lowing  reluctantly  in  the  footsteps  of  the  works.     Some-    / 
times  fame  is  malicious,  ghoulish,  arriving  too  late,  and/ 
battening  upon  corpses. 

Strange  is  the  relationship  between  Rolland  and  fame. 
From  early  youth  he  was  allured  by  its  magic;  but 
charmed  by  the  thought  of  the  only  reputation  that 
counts,  the  reputation  that  is  based  upon  moral  strength 
and  ethical  authority,  he  proudly  and  steadfastly  re- 
nounced the  ordinary  amenities  of  cliquism  and  con- 
ventional intercourse.  He  knew  the  dangers  and  tempta- 
tions of  power;  he  knew  that  fussy  activity  could  grasp 
nothing  but  a  cold  shadow,  and  was  impotent  to  seize  the 
radiant  light.  Never,  therefore,  did  he  take  any  de- 
liberate step  towards  fame,  never  did  he  reach  out  his 
hand  to  fame,  near  to  him  as  fame  had  been  more  than 
once  in  his  life.  Indeed,  he  deliberately  repelled  the 
oncoming  footsteps  by  the  publication  of  his  scathing 
La  foire  sur  la  place,  through  which  he  permanently  for- 
feited the  favor  of  the  Parisian  press.     What  he  writes 


50  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

of  Jean  Christophe  applies  perfectly  to  himself:  "Le 
succes  n'etait  pas  son  but;  son  but  etait  la  foi."  [Not 
success,  but  faith  was  his  goal.] 

Fame  loved  Rolland,  who  loved  fame  from  afar,  un- 
obtrusively. "It  were  pity,"  fame  seemed  to  say,  "to 
disturb  this  man's  work.  The  seeds  must  lie  for  a  while 
in  the  darkness,  enduring  patiently,  until  the  time  comes 
for  germination."  Reputation  and  the  work  were  grow- 
ing in  two  different  worlds,  awaiting  contact.  A  small 
community  of  admirers  had  formed  after  the  publication 
of  Beethoven.  They  followed  Jean  Christophe  in  his 
pilgrimage.  The  faithful  of  the  '^'Cahiers  de  la  quin- 
zaine'*  won  new  friends.  Without  any  help  from  the 
press,  through  the  unseen  influence  of  responsive  sym- 
pathies, the  circulation  of  his  works  grew.  Transla- 
tions were  published,  Paul  Seippel,  the  distinguished 
Swiss  author,  penned  a  comprehensive  biography, 
newspapers  had  begun  to  print  his  name.  The  crown- 
Rolland  had  found  many  devoted  admirers  before  the 
ing  of  his  completed  work  by  the  Academy  was  nothing 
more  than  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  summoning  the  armies 
of  his  admirers  to  a  review.  All  at  once  accounts  of 
Rolland  broke  upon  the  world  like  a  flood,  shortly  be- 
fore he  had  attained  his  fiftieth  year.  In  1912  he  was 
still  unknown;  in  1914  he  had  a  wide  reputation.  With 
a  cry  of  astonishment,  a  generation  recognized  its  leader, 
and  Europe  became  aware  of  the  first  product  of  the  new 
universal  European  spirit. 

There  is  a  mystical  significance  in  Remain  Rolland's 
rise  to  fame,  just  as  in  every  event  of  his  life.     Fame 


RENOWN  51 

came  late  to  this  man  whom  fame  had  passed  by  during 
the  bitter  years  of  mental  distress  and  material  need. 
Nevertheless  it  came  at  the  rig^t  hour,  since  it  came     f 
before  the  war.     Holland's  renown  put  a  sword  into  his     | 
hand.     At  the  decisive  mor  ont  he  had  power  and  a     ; 
voice  to  speak  for  Europe.     He  stood  on  a  pedestal,  so     | 
that  he  was  visible  above  the  medley.     In  truth  fame     ? 
was  granted  at  a  fitting  time,  when  through  suffering     | 
and  knowledge  Rolland  had  grown  ripe  for  his  highest 
function,  to  assume  his  European  responsibility.     Repu- 
tation, and  the  power  that  reputation  gives,  came  at  a 
moment  when  the  world  of  the  courageous  needed  a 
man  who  should  proclaim  against  the  world  itself  the 
world's  eternal  message  of  brotherhood. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HOLLAND  AS  THE  EMBODIMENT  OF  THE  EUROPEAN  SPIRIT 

THUS  does  Rolland's  life  pass  from  obscurity  into 
the  light  of  day.  Progress  is  slow,  but  the 
impulsion  comes  from  powerful  energies.  The 
movement  towards  the  goal  is  not  always  obvious, 
and  yet  his  life  is  associated  as  is  none  other  with  the 
disastrously  impending  destiny  of  Europe.  Regarded 
from  the  outlook  of  fulfillment,  we  discern  that  all  the 
ostensibly  counteracting  influences,  the  years  of  incon- 
spicuous and  apparently  vain  struggle,  have  been  neces- 
sary; we  see  that  every  incident  has  been  symbolic. 
The  career  develops  like  a  work  of  art,  building  itself 
up  in  a  wise  ordination  of  will  and  chance.  We  should 
take  too  mean  a  view  of  destiny,  were  we  to  think  it 
the  outcome  of  pure  sport  that  this  man  hitherto  unknown 
should  become  a  moral  force  in  the  world  during  the 
very  years  when,  as  never  before,  there  was  need  for 
one  who  would  champion  the  things  of  the  spirit. 

The  year  1914  marks  the  close  of  Romain  Rolland's 
private  life.  Henceforth  his  career  belongs  to  the 
world;  his  biography  becomes  part  of  history;  his  per- 
sonal experiences  can  no  longer  be  detached  from  his 
public  activities.     The  solitary  has  been  forced  out  of 

52 


HOLLAND  AND  THE  EUROPEAN  SPIRIT      53 

his  workroom  to  accomplish  his  task  in  the  world.  The 
man  whose  existence  has  been  so  retired,  must  now  live 
with  doors  and  windows  open.  His  every  essay,  his 
every  letter,  is  a  manifesto.  His  life  from  now  onward 
shapes  itself  like  a  heroic  drama.  From  the  hour  when 
his  most  cherished  ideal,  the  unity  of  Europe,  seemed  ■ 
bent  on  its  own  destruction,  he  emerged  from  his  re-f 
tirement  to  become  a  vital  element  of  his  time,  an  im- 
personal force,  a  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  European 
spirit.  Just  as  little  as  Tolstoi's  life  can  be  detached, 
from  his  propagandist  activities,  just  so  little  is  there 
justification  in  this  case  for  an  attempt  to  distinguish  be- 
tween the  man  and  his  influence.  Since  1914,  Romain 
Holland  has  been  one  with  his  ideal  and  one  with  the 
struggle  for  its  realization.  No  longer  is  he  author, 
poet,  or  artist;  no  longer  does  he  belong  to  himself.  He 
is  the  voice  of  Europe  in  the  season  of  its  most  poignant 
agony.     He  has  become  the  conscience  of  the  world. 


PART  TWO 
EARLY  WORK  AS  A  DRAMATIST 

Son  but  n'etait  pas   le  succes;    son 
but  etait  la  foi. 
Jean  Christophe,  "La  Revoke." 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   WORK  AND   THE   EPOCH 

ROMAIN  HOLLAND'S  work  cannot  be  under- 
stood without  an  understanding  of  the  epoch  in 
which  that  work  came"  into  being.  For  here 
we  have  a  passion  that  springs  from  the  weariness  of 
an  entire  country,  a  faith  that  springs  from  the  disil- 
lusionment of  a  humiliated  nation.  The  shadow  of  1870 
was  cast  across  the  youth  of  the  French  author.  The  \ 
significance  and  greatness  of  his  work  taken  as  a  whole 
depend  upon  the  way  in  which  it  constitutes  a  spiritual 
bridge  between  one  great  war  and  the  next.  It  arises 
from  a  blood-stained  earth  and  a  storm-tossed  horizon 
on  one  side,  reaching  across  on  the  other  to  the  new 
struggle  and  the  new  spirit. 

It  originates  in  gloom.     A  land  defeated  in  war  is 
like  a  man  who  has  lost  his  god.     Divine  ecstasy  is  sud- 
denly replaced  by  dull  exhaustion;  a  fire  that  blazed 
in  millions  is  extinguished,  so  that  nothing  but  ash  and 
cinder  remain.     There  is  a  sudden  collapse  of  all  values,  i  ^  (j»> 
Enthusiasm  has  become  meaningless;  death  is  purpose-  j 
less ;  the  deeds,  which  but  yesterday  were  deemed  heroic,  I 
are  now  looked  upon  as  follies;  faith  is  a  fraud;  belief 
in  oneself,  a  pitiful  illusion.     The  impulse  to  fellowship  j 
fades;  every  one  fights  for  his  own  hand,  evades  respon- 

57 


/ 


58  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

sibility  that  he  may  throw  it  upon  his  neighbor,  thinks 
only  of  profit,  utility,  and  personal  advantage.  Lofty 
aspirations  are  killed  by  an  infinite  weariness.  Nothing 
^  is  so  utterly  destructive  to  the  moral  energy  of  the  masses 
"nv  I  as  a  defeat;  nothing  else  degrades  and  weakens  to  the 
same  extent  the  whole  spiritual  poise  of  a  nation. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  France  after  1870;  the 
country  was  mentally  tired;  it  had  become  a  land  with- 
out a  leader.  The  best  among  its  imaginative  writers 
could  give  no  help.  They  staggered  for  a  while,  as  if 
stunned  by  the  bludgeoning  of  the  disaster.  Then,  as 
the  first  eff^ects  passed  off,  they  reentered  their  old  paths 
I  which  led  them  into  a  purely  literary  field,  remote  and 
-I  ever  remoter  from  the  destinies  of  their  nation.  It  is 
/  not  within  the  power  of  men  already  mature  to  make 
headway  against  a  national  catastrophe.  Zola,  Flau- 
bert, Anatole  France,  and  Maupassant,  needed  all  their 
strength  to  keep  themselves  erect  on  their  own  feet. 
They  could  give  no  support  to  their  nation.  Their  ex- 
periences had  made  them  skeptical;  they  no  longer  pos- 
sessed sufficient  faith  to  give  a  new  faith  to  the  French 
people.  But  the  younger  writers,  those  who  had  no 
personal  memories  of  the  disaster,  those  who  had  not 
witnessed  the  actual  struggle  and  had  merely  grown  up 
amid  the  spiritual  corpses  left  upon  the  battlefield,  those 
who  looked  upon  the  ravaged  and  tormented  soul  of 
France,  could  not  succumb  to  the  influences  of  this  weari- 
ness. The  young  cannot  live  without  faith,  cannot 
breathe  in  the  moral  stagnation  of  a  materialistic  world. 
For  them,  life  and  creation  mean  the  lighting  up  of 


THE  WORK  AND  THE  EPOCH  59 

faith,  that  mystically  burning  faith  which  glows  un- 
quenchably  in  every  new  generation,  glows  even  among 
the  tombs  of  the  generation  which  has  passed  away.  To 
the  newcomers,  the  defeat  is  no  more  than  one  of  the 
primary  factors  of  their  experience,  the  most  urgent  of 
the  problems  their  art  must  take  into  account.  They 
feel  that  they  are  naught  unless  they  prove  able  to  re- 
store this  France,  torn  and  bleeding  after  the  struggle. 
It  is  their  mission  to  provide  a  new  faith  for  this  skep- 
tically resigned  people.  Such  is  the  task  for  their  ro- 
bust energies,  such  the  goal  of  their  aspiration.  Not 
by  chance  do  we  find  that  among  the  best  in  defeated 
nations  a  new  idealism  invariably  springs  to  life;  that 
the  poets  of  such  peoples  have  but  one  aim,  to  bring 
solace  to  their  nation  that  the  sense  of  defeat  may  be 
assuaged. 

How  can  a  vanquished  nation  be  solaced?  How  can 
the  sting  of  defeat  be  soothed?  The  writer  must  be 
competent  to  divert  his  readers'  thoughts  from  the  pres- 
ent; he  must  fashion  a  dialectic  of  defeat  which  shall 
replace  despair  by  hope.  These  young  authors  en- 
deavored to  bring  help  in  two  different  ways.  Some 
pointed  towards  the  future,  saying:  "Cherish  hatred; 
last  time  we  were  beaten,  next  time  we  shall  conquer." 
This  was  the  argument  of  the  nationalists,  and  there  is 
significance  in  the  fact  that  it  was  predominantly  voiced 
by  the  sometime  companions  of  Rolland,  by  Maurice 
Barres,  Paul  Claudel,  and  Peguy.  For  thirty  years, 
with  the  hammers  of  verse  and  prose,  they  fashioned  the 
wounded  pride  of  the  French  nation  that  it  might  become 


\' 


60  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

a  weapon  to  strike  the  hated  foe  to  the  heart.  For  thirty 
years  they  talked  of  nothing  but  yesterday's  defeat  and 
to-morrow's  triumph.  Ever  afresh  did  they  tear  open 
the  old  wound.  Again  and  again,  when  the  young  were 
inclining  towards  reconciliation,  did  these  writers  in- 
flame their  minds  anew  with  exhortations  in  the  heroic 
vein.  From  hand  to  hand  they  passed  the  unquench- 
able torch  of  revenge,  ready  and  eager  to  fling  it  into 
Europe's  powder  barrel. 
\  The  other  type  of  idealism,  that  of  Rolland,  less  cla- 
mant and  long  ignored,  looked  in  a  very  different  direc- 
tion for  solace,  turning  its  gaze  not  towards  the  im- 
mediate future  but  towards  eternity.  It  did  not  prom- 
ise a  new  victory,  but  showed  that  false  values  had  been 
used  in  estimating  defeat.  For  writers  of  this  school, 
for  the  pupils  of  Tolstoi,  force  is  no  argument  for  the 
spirit,  the  externals  of  success  provide  no  criterion  of 
value  for  the  soul.  In  their  view,  the  individual  does 
not  conquer  when  the  generals  of  his  nation  march  to 
victory  through  a  hundred  provinces;  the  individual  is 
not  vanquished  when  the  army  loses  a  thousand  pieces 
of  artillery.  The  individual  gains  the  victory,  only 
when  he  is  free  from  illusion,  and  when  he  has  no  part 
in  any  wrong  committed  by  his  nation.  In  their  isola- 
tion, those  who  hold  such  views  have  continually  en- 
deavored to  induce  France,  not  indeed  to  forget  her  de- 
feat, but  to  make  of  that  defeat  a  source  of  moral  great- 
ness, to  recognize  the  worth  of  the  spiritual  seed  which 
[lias  germinated  on  the  blood-drenched  battlefields.  Of 
Such  a  character,  in  Jean  Christophe,  are  the  words  of 


THE  WORK  AND  THE  EPOCH  61 

Olivier,  the  spokesman  of  all  young  Frenchmen  of  this 
way  of  thinking.  Speaking  to  his  German  friend,  he 
says:  "Fortunate  the  defeat,  blessed  the  disaster! 
Not  for  us  to  disavow  it,  for  we  are  its  children.  ...  It 
is  you,  my  dear  Christopher,  who  have  refashioned  us. 
.  .  .  The  defeat,  little  as  you  may  have  wished  it,  has 
done  us  more  good  than  evil.  You  have  rekindled  the 
torch  of  our  idealism,  have  given  a  fresh  impetus  to  our 
science,  and  have  reanimated  our  faith.  .  .  .  We  owe  to 
you  the  reawakening  of  our  racial  conscience.  .  .  .  Pic- 
ture the  young  Frenchmen  who  were  bom  in  houses  of 
mourning  under  the  shadow  of  defeat;  who  were  nour- 
ished on  gloomy  thoughts;  who  were  trained  to  be  the 
instruments  of  a  bloody,  inevitable,  and  perhaps  use- 
less revenge.  Such  was  the  lesson  impressed  upon  their 
minds  from  their  earliest  years:  they  were  taught  that 
there  is  no  justice  in  this  world ;  that  might  crushes  right. 
A  revelation  of  this  character  will  either  degrade  a 
child's  soul  for  ever,  or  will  permanently  uplift  it." 
And  Rolland  continues:  "Defeat  refashions  the  elite 
of  a  nation,  segregating  the  single-minded  and  the  strong, 
and  making  them  more  single-minded  and  stronger  than 
before;  but  the  others  are  hastened  by  defeat  down  the 
path  leading  to  destruction.  Thus  are  the  masses  of  the 
people  .  .  .  separated  from  the  elite,  leaving  these  free 
to  continue  their  forward  march." 

For  Rolland  this  elite,  reconciling  France  with  the 
world,  will  in  days  to  come  fulfil  the  mission  of  his 
nation.  In  ultimate  analysis,  his  thirty  years'  work  may 
be  regarded  as  one  continuous  attempt  to  prevent  a  new 


62  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

war — ^to  hinder  the  revival  of  the  horrible  cleavage  be- 
tween victory  and  defeat.     His  aim  has  been,  not  to 
teach  a  new  national  pride,  but  to  inculcate  a  new 
^^       heroism  of  self-conquest,  a  new  faith  in  justice. 

Thus  from  the  same  source,  from  the  darkness  of  de- 
feat, there  have  flowed  two  different  streams  of  idealism. 
In  speech  and  writing,  an  invisible  struggle  has  been 
waged  for  the  soul  of  the  new  generation.  The  facts 
of  history  turned  the  scale  in  favor  of  Maurice  Barres. 
The  year  1914  marked  the  defeat  of  the  ideas  of  Romain 
Rolland.  Thus  defeat  was  not  merely  an  experience 
imposed  on  him  in  youth,  for  defeat  has  likewise  been 
the  tragic  substance  of  his  years  of  mature  manhood. 
But  it  has  always  been  his  peculiar  talent  to  create  out  of 
defeat  the  strongest  of  his  works,  to  draw  from  resig- 
nation new  ardors,  to  derive  from  disillusionment  a  pas- 
sionate faith.  He  has  ever  been  the  poet  of  the  van- 
quished, the  consoler  of  the  despairing,  the  dauntless 
guide  towards  that  world  where  suffering  is  transmuted 
into  positive  values  and  where  misfortune  becomes  a 
source  of  strength.  That  which  was  born  out  of  a  trag- 
ical time,  the  experience  of  a  nation  under  the  heel  of 
destiny,  Rolland  has  made  available  for  all  times  and 
all  nations. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   WILL  TO   GREATNESS 

ROLLAND  realized  his  mission  early  in  his 
career.  The  hero  of  one  of  his  first  writings, 
the  Girondist  Hugot  in  Le  triomphe  de  la 
raison,  discloses  the  author's  own  ardent  faith  when  he 
declares:  "Our  first  duty  is  to  be  great,  and  to  defend 
greatness  on  earth." 

This  will  to  greatness  lies  hidden  at  the  heart  of  all 
personal  greatness.  What  distinguishes  Romain  Rol- 
land  from  others,  what  distinguishes  the  beginner  of 
those  days  and  the  fighter  of  the  thirty  years  that  have 
since  elapsed,  is  that  in  art  he  never  creates  anything 
isolated,  anything  with  a  purely  literary  or  casual  scope. 
Invariably  his  efforts  are  directed  towards  the  loftiest 
moral  aims;  he  aspires  towards  eternal  forms;  strives 
to  fashion  the  monumental.  His  goal  is  to  produce  a 
fresco,  to  paint  a  comprehensive  picture,  to  achieve  an 
epic  completeness.  He  does  not  choose  his  literary  col- 
leagues as  models,  but  takes  as  examples  the  heroes  of 
the  ages.  He  tears  his  gaze  away  from  Paris,  from  the 
movement  of  contemporary  life,  which  he  regards  as 
trivial.  Tolstoi,  the  only  modem  who  seems  to  him 
poietic,  as  the  great  men  of  an  earlier  day  were  poietic, 

63 


64  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

is  his  teacher  and  master.  Despite  his  humility, 
he  cannot  but  feel  that  his  own  creative  impulse  makes 
him  more  closely  akin  to  Shakespeare's  historical  plays, 
to  Tolstoi's  War  and  Peace,  to  Goethe's  universality,  to 
Balzac's  wealth  of  imagination,  to  Wagner's  promethean 
art,  than  he  is  akin  to  the  activities  of  his  contemporaries, 
whose  energies  are  concentrated  upon  material  success. 
He  studies  his  exemplars'  lives,  to  draw  courage  from 
their  courage;  he  examines  their  works,  in  order  that, 
i  using  their  measure,  he  may  lift  his  own  achievements 
above  the  commonplace  and  the  relative.  His  zeal  for 
I  the  absolute  is  almost  a  religion.  Without  venturing  to 
compare  himself  with  them,  he  thinks  always  of  the  in- 
comparably great,  of  the  meteors  that  have  fallen  out  of 
eternity  into  our  own  day.  He  dreams  of  creating  a 
Sistine  of  symphonies,  dramas  like  Shakespeare's  his- 
tories, an  epic  like  War  and  Peace;  not  of  writing  a  new 
Madame  Bovary  or  tales  like  those  of  Maupassant.  The 
timeless  is  his  true  world;  it  is  the  star  towards  which 
his  creative  will  modestly  and  yet  passionately  aspires. 
Among  latter-day  Frenchmen  none  but  Victor  Hugo  and 
Balzac  have  had  this  glorious  fervor  for  the  monu- 
mental; among  the  Germans  none  has  had  it  since  Rich- 
ard Wagner;  among  contemporary  Englishmen,  none 
perhaps  but  Thomas  Hardy. 

Neither  talent  nor  diligence  suffices  unaided  to  inspire 
such  an  urge  towards  the  transcendent.  A  moral  force 
must  be  the  lever  to  shake  a  spiritual  world  to  its  foun- 
dations. The  moral  force  which  Rolland  possesses  is  a 
courage  unexampled  in  the  history  of  modem  litera- 


THE  WILL  TO  GREATNES5  65 

ture.  The  quality  that  first  made  his  attitude  on  the  war 
manifest  to  the  world,  the  heroism  which  led  him  to 
take  his  stand  alone  against  the  sentiments  of  an  entire 
epoch,  had,  to  the  discerning,  already  been  made  appar- 
ent in  the  writings  of  the  inconspicuous  beginner  a 
quarter  of  a  century  earlier.  A  man  of  an  easy-going 
and  conciliatory  nature  is  not  suddenly  transformed 
into  a  hero.  Courage,  like  every  other  power  of  the 
soul,  must  be  steeled  and  tempered  by  many  trials. 
'Among  all  those  of  his  generation,  RoUand  had  long 
been  signalized  as  the  boldest  by  his  preoccupation  with 
mighty  designs.  Not  merely  did  he  dream,  like  ambi-  \ 
tious  schoolboys,  of  Iliads  and  pentalogies;  he  actually 
created  them  in  the  fevered  world  of  to-day,  working  in 
isolation,  with  the  dauntless  spirit  of  past  centuries. 
Not  one  of  his  plays  had  been  staged,  not  a  publisher 
had  accepted  any  of  his  books,  when  he  began  a  dra- 
matic cycle  as  comprehensive  as  Shakespeare's  histories. 
He  had  as  yet  no  public,  no  name,  when  he  began  his 
colossal  romance,  Jean  Christophe.  He  embroiled  him- 
self with  the  theaters,  when  in  his  manifesto  Le  theatre 
du  peuple  he  censured  the  triteness  and  commercialism 
of  the  contemporary  drama.  He  likewise  embroiled 
himself  with  the  critics,  when,  in  La  foire  sur  la  place, 
he  pilloried  the  cheapjackery  of  Parisian  journalism  and 
French  dilettantism  with  a  severity  which  had  been  un- 
known westward  of  the  Rhine  since  the  publication  of 
Balzac's  Les  illusions  perdues.  This  young  man  whose 
financial  position  was  precarious,  who  had  no  powerful 
associates,  who  had  found  no  favor  with  newspaper  edi- 


66  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

tors,  publishers,  or  theatrical  managers,  proposed  to  re- 
mold the  spirit  of  his  generation,  simply  by  his  own  will 
and  the  power  of  his  own  deeds.  Instead  of  aiming  at  a 
neighboring  goal,  he  always  worked  for  a  distant  future, 
worked  with  that  religious  faith  in  greatness  which  was 
displayed  by  the  medieval  architects — men  who  planned 
cathedrals  for  the  honor  of  God,  recking  little  whether 
they  themselves  would  survive  to  see  the  completion  of 
their  designs.  This  courage,  which  draws  its  strength 
from  the  religious  elements  of  his  nature,  is  his  sole 
helper.  The  watchword  of  his  life  may  be  said  to  have 
been  the  phrase  of  William  the  Silent,  prefixed  by  Hol- 
land as  motto  to  Aert:  "I  have  no  need  of  approval  to 
give  me  hope;  nor  of  success,  to  brace  me  to  persever- 
ance." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   CREATIVE   CYCLES 

THE  will  to  greatness  involuntarily  finds  expres- 
sion in  characteristic  forms.  Rarely  does  Rol- 
land  attempt  to  deal  with  any  isolated  topic,  and 
he  never  concerns  himself  about  a  mere  episode  in  feel- 
ing or  in  history.  His  creative  imagination  is  attracted 
solely  by  elemental  phenomena,  by  the  great  "courants 
de  foi,"  whereby  with  mystical  energy  a  single  idea  is 
suddenly  carried  into  the  minds  of  millions  of  individ- 
uals; whereby  a  country,  an  epoch,  a  generation,  will 
become  kindled  like  a  firebrand,  and  will  shed  light  over 
the  environing  darkness.  He  lights  his  own  poetic  flame 
at  the  great  beacons  of  mankind,  be  they  individuals  of 
genius  or  inspired  epochs,  Beethoven  or  the  Renaissance, 
Tolstoi  or  the  Revolution,  Michelangelo  or  the  Crusades. 
Yet  for  the  artistic  control  of  such  phenomena,  widely 
ranging,  deeply  rooted  in  the  cosmos,  overshadowing  en- 
tire eras,  more  is  requisite  than  the  raw  ambition  and 
fitful  enthusiasm  of  an  adolescent.  If  a  mental  state 
of  this  nature  is  to  fashion  anything  that  shall  endure, 
it  must  do  so  in  boldly  conceived  forms.  The  cultural 
history  of  inspired  and  heroic  periods,  cannot  be  limned 
in  fugitive  sketches;  careful  grounding  is  indispensable. ' 

67 


L 


68  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Above  all  does  this  apply  to  monumental  architecture. 
Here  we  must  have  a  spacious  site  for  the  display  of  the 
structures,  and  terraces  from  which  a  general  view  can 
be  secured. 

That  is  why,  in  all  his  works,  Rolland  needs  so  much 
room.  He  desires  to  be  just  to  every  epoch  as  to  every 
individual.  He  never  wishes  to  display  a  chance  sec- 
tion, but  would  fain  exhibit  the  entire  cycle  of  happen- 
ings. He  would  fain  depict,  not  episodes  of  the  French 
revolution,  but  the  Revolution  as  a  whole;  not  the  his- 
tory of  Jean  Christophe  Krafft,  the  individual  modem 
musician,  but  the  history  of  contemporary  Europe.  He 
aims  at  presenting,  not  only  the  central  force  of  an  era, 
but  likewise  the  manifold  counterforces;  not  the  action 
alone,  but  the  reaction  as  well.  For  Rolland,  breadth  of 
scope  is  a  moral  necessity  rather  than  an  artistic.  Since 
he  would  be  just  in  his  enthusiasm,  since  in  the  parlia- 
ment of  his  work  he  would  give  every  idea  its  spokes- 
man, he  is  compelled  to  write  many-voiced  choruses. 
That  he  may  exhibit  the  Revolution  in  all  its  aspects,  its 
rise,  its  troubles,  its  political  activities,  its  decline,  and 
its  fall,  he  plans  a  cycle  of  ten  dramas.  The  Renais- 
sance needs  a  treatment  hardly  less  extensive.  Jean 
Christophe  must  have  three  thousand  pages.  To  Rol- 
land, the  intermediate  form,  the  variety,  seems  no  less 
important  than  the  generic  type.  He  is  aware  of  the 
danger  of  dealing  exclusively  with  types.  What  would 
Jean  Christophe  be  worth  to  us,  if  with  the  figure  of  the 
hero  there  were  merely  contrasted  that  of  Olivier  as  a 
typical  Frenchman;  if  we  did  not  find  subsidiary  figures, 


THE  CREATIVE  CYCLES  69 

good  and  evil,  grouped  in  numberless  variations  around 
the  symbolic  dominants.  If  we  are  to  secure  a  gen- 
uinely objective  view,  many  witnesses  must  be  sum- 
moned; if  we  are  to  form  a  just  judgment,  the  whole 
wealth  of  facts  must  be  taken  into  consideration.  It 
is  this  ethical  demand  for  justice  to  the  small  no  less 
than  to  the  great  which  makes  spacious  forms  essential 
to  Rolland.  This  is  why  his  creative  artistry  demands 
an  all-embracing  outlook,  a  cyclic  method  of  presenta- 
tion. Each  individual  work  in  these  cycles,  however 
circumscribed  it  may  appear  at  the  first  glance,  is  no 
more  than  a  segment,  whose  full  significance  becomes  ap- 
parent only  when  we  grasp  its  relationship  to  the  focal 
thought,  to  justice  as  the  moral  center  of  gravity,  as  a 
point  whence  all  ideas,  words,  and  actions  appear  equi-  , 
distant  from  the  center  of  universal  humanity.  The  j 
circle,  the  cycle,  which  unrestingly  environs  all  its 
wealth  of  content,  wherein  discords  are  harmoniously  re- 
solved— to  Rolland,  ever  the  musician,  this  symbol  of 
sensory  justice  is  the  favorite  and  wellnigh  exclusive 
form. 

The  work  of  Romain  Rolland  during  the  last  thirty 
years  comprises  five  such  creative  cycles.  Too  extended 
in  their  scope,  they  have  not  all  been  completed.  The 
first,  a  dramatic  cycle,  which  in  the  spirit  of  Shakespeare 
was  to  represent  the  Renaissance  as  an  integral  unit 
much  as  Gobineau  desired  to  represent  it,  remained  a 
fragment.  Even  the  individual  dramas  have  been  cast 
aside  by  Rolland  as  inadequate.  The  Tragedies  de  la 
foi  form  the  second  cycle;  the  Theatre  de  la  revolution 


70  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

forms  the  third.  Both  are  unfinished,  but  the  frag- 
ments are  of  imperishable  value.  The  fourth  cycle,  the 
Vie  des  hommes  illustres,  a  cycle  of  biographies  planned 
to  form  as  it  were  a  frieze  round  the  temple  of  the  in- 
visible God,  is  likewise  incomplete.  The  ten  volumes  of 
Jean  Christophe  alone  succeed  in  rounding  off  the  full 
circle  of  a  generation,  uniting  grandeur  and  justice  in 
the  foreshadowed  concord. 

Above  these  five  creative  cycles  there  looms  another 
and  later  cycle,  recognizable  as  yet  only  in  its  begin- 
ning and  its  end,  its  origination  and  its  recurrence.  It 
will  express  the  harmonious  connection  of  a  manifold 
existence  with  a  lofty  and  universal  life-cycle  in  Goethe's 
sense,  a  cycle  wherein  life  and  poesy,  word  and  writing, 
character  and  action,  themselves  become  works  of  art. 
But  this  cycle  still  glows  in  the  process  of  fashioning. 
We  feel  its  vital  heat  radiating  into  our  mortal  world. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   UNKNOWN   DRAMATIC    CYCLE.       1890-1895 

THE  young  man  of  twenty-two,  just  liberated  from 
the  walls  of  the  Parisian  seminary,  fired  with 
the  genius  of  music  and  with  that  of  Shake- 
speare's enthralling  plays,  had  in  Italy  his  first  expe- 
rience of  the  world  as  a  sphere  of  freedom.  He  had 
learned  history  from  documents  and  syllabuses.  Now 
history  looked  at  him  with  living  eyes  out  of  statues 
and  figures;  the  Italian  cities,  the  centuries,  seemed  to 
move  as  if  on  a  stage  under  his  impassioned  gaze.  Give 
them  but  speech,  these  sublime  memories,  and  history 
would  become  poesy,  the  past  would  grow  into  a  peopled 
tragedy.  During  his  first  hours  in  the  south  he  was 
in  a  sublime  intoxication.  Not  as  historian  but  as  poet 
did  he  first  see  Rome  and  Florence. 

"Here,"  he  said  to  himself  in  youthful  fervor,  "here 
is  the  greatness  for  which  I  have  yearned.  Here,  at 
least,  it  used  to  be,  in  the  days  of  the  Renaissance,  when 
these  cathedrals  grew  heavenward  amid  the  storms  of 
battle,  and  when  Michelangelo  and  Raphael  were  adorn- 
ing the  walls  of  the  Vatican,  what  time  the  popes  were 
no  less  mighty  in  spirit  than  the  masters  of  art — for  in 
that  epoch,  after  centuries  of  interment  with  the  antique 

71 


72  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

statues,  the  heroic  spirit  of  ancient  Greece  had  been  re- 
vived in  a  new  Europe."  His  imagination  conjured  up 
the  superhuman  figures  of  that  earlier  day;  and  of  a 
sudden,  Shakespeare,  the  friend  of  his  first  youth,  filled 
his  mind  once  more.  Simultaneously,  as  I  have  already 
recounted,  witnessing  a  number  of  performances  by  Er- 
nesto Rossi,  he  came  to  realize  his  own  dramatic  talent. 
Not  now,  as  of  old,  in  the  Clamecy  loft,  was  he  chiefly  al- 
lured by  the  gentle  feminine  figures.  The  strongest  ap- 
peal, to  his  early  manhood,  was  exercised  by  the  fierce- 
ness of  the  more  powerful  characters,  by  the  penetrating 
truth  of  a  knowledge  of  mankind,  by  the  stormy  tumult 
of  the  soul.  In  France,  Shakespeare  is  hardly  known  at 
all  by  stage  presentation,  and  but  very  little  in  prose 
translation.  Rolland,  however,  now  attained  as  intimate 
an  acquaintanceship  with  Shakespeare  as  had  been  pos- 
sessed a  hundred  years  earlier,  almost  at  the  same  age, 
by  Goethe  when  he  conceived  his  Oration  on  Shake- 
speare. This  new  inspiration  showed  itself  in  a  vig- 
orous creative  impulse.  Rolland  penned  a  series  of 
dramas  dealing  with  the  great  figures  of  the  past,  work- 
ing with  the  fervor  of  the  beginner,  and  with  that  sense 
of  newly  acquired  mastery  which  was  felt  by  the  Ger- 
mans of  the  Sturm  und  Drang  era. 

These  plays  remained  unpublished,  at  first  owing  to 
the  disfavor  of  circumstances,  but  subsequently  because 
the  author's  ripening  critical  faculty  made  him  with- 
hold them  from  the  world.  The  first,  entitled  Orsino^ 
was  written  at  Rome  in  1890.  Next,  in  the  halcyon 
clime  of  Sicily,  he  composed  Empedocles,  uninfluenced 


THE  UNKNOWN  DRAMATIC  CYCLE       73 
1890-1895 

by  Holderlin's  ambitious  draft,  of  which  Rolland  heard 
first  from  Malwida  von  Meysenbug.  In  the  same  year, 
1891,  he  wrote  Gli  Baglioni.  His  return  to  Paris  did 
not  interrupt  this  outpouring,  for  in  1892  he  wrote  two 
plays,  Caligula,  and  Niobe.  From  his  wedding  jour- 
ney to  the  beloved  Italy  in  1893  he  returned  with  a  new 
Renaissance  drama,  Le  siege  de  Mantoue.  This  is  the 
only  one  of  the  early  plays  which  the  author  acknow- 
ledges to-day,  though  by  an  unfortunate  mischance  the 
manuscript  has  been  lost.  At  length  turning  his  atten- 
tion to  French  history,  he  wrote  Saint  Louis  (1893),  the 
first  of  his  Tragedies  de  la  foi.  Next  came  Jeanne  de 
Piennes  (1894),  which  remains  unpublished.  .  .  .  Aert 
(1895),  the  second  of  the  Tragedies  de  la  foi,  was  the 
first  of  Rolland's  plays  to  be  staged.  There  now  ( 1896- 
1902)  followed  the  four  dramas  of  the  Theatre  de  la 
revolution.  In  1900  he  wrote  La  Montespan  and  Les 
trois  amoureuses. 

Thus  before  the  era  of  the  more  important  works  there 
were  composed  no  less  than  twelve  dramas,  equaling  in 
bulk  the  entire  dramatic  output  of  Schiller,  Kleist,  or 
Hebbel.  The  first  eight  of  these  were  never  either 
printed  or  staged.  Except  for  the  appreciation  by  his 
confidant  Malwida  von  Meysenbug  in  Der  Lehens  Abend 
einer  Idealistin  (a  connoisseur's  tribute  to  their  artistic 
merits),  not  a  word  has  ever  been  said  about  them. 

With  a  single  exception.  One  of  the  plays  was  read 
on  a  classical  occasion  by  one  of  the  greatest  French 
actors  of  the  day,  but  the  reminiscence  is  a  painful  one. 


74  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Gabriel  Monod,  who  from  being  Rolland's  teacher  had 
become  his  friend,  noting  Malwida  von  Meysenbug's  en- 
thusiasm, gave  three  of  Rolland's  pieces  to  Mounet-Sully, 
who  was  delighted  with  them.  The  actor  submitted  them 
to  the  Comedie  Frangaise,  and  in  the  reading  committee 
he  fought  desperately  on  behalf  of  the  unknown,  whose 
dramatic  talent  was  more  obvious  to  him,  the  comedian, 
than  it  was  to  the  men  of  letters.  Orsino  and  Gli  Bag- 
lioni  were  ruthlessly  rejected,  but  Niobe  was  read  to  the 
committee.  This  was  a  momentous  incident  in  Rol- 
land's life ;  for  the  first  time,  fame  seemed  close  at  hand. 
Mounet-Sully  read  the  play.  Holland  was  present. 
The  reading  took  two  hours,  and  for  a  further  two  min- 
utes the  young  author's  fate  hung  in  the  balance.  Not 
yet,  however,  was  celebrity  to  come.  The  drama  was 
refused,  to  relapse  into  oblivion.  It  was  not  even  ac- 
corded the  lesser  grace  of  print;  and  of  the  dozen  or 
so  dramatic  works  which  the  dauntless  author  penned 
during  the  next  decade,  not  one  found  its  way  on  to  the 
boards  of  the  national  theater. 

We  know  no  more  than  the  names  of  these  early 
works,  and  are  unable  to  judge  their  worth.  But  when 
we  study  the  later  plays  we  may  deduce  the  conclusion 
that  in  the  earlier  ones  a  premature  flame,  raging  too 
hotly,  burned  itself  out.  If  the  dramas  which  first  ap- 
peared in  the  press  charm  us  by  their  maturity  and  con- 
centration, they  depend  for  these  qualities  upon  the  fate 
which  left  their  predecessors  unknown.  Their  calm  is 
built  upon  the  passion  of  those  which  were  sacrificed 
unborn;  they  owe  their  orderly  structure  to  the  heroic 


THE  UNKNOWN  DRAMATIC  CYCLE       75 
1890-1895 

zeal  of  their  martyred  brethren.     All  true  creation  grows  \ 

out  of  the  dark  humus  of  rejected  creations.     Of  none  is  ; 

it  more  true  than  of  Romain  Rolland  that  his  work  bios-  j 
soms  upon  the  soil  of  renunciation. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   TRAGEDIES   OF   FAITH 

Saint  Louis.     Aert.     1895-1898 

TWENTY  years  after  their  first  composition,  re- 
publishing the  forgotten  dramas  of  his  youth 
under  the  title  Les  tragedies  de  la  foi  (1913), 
Rolland  alluded  in  the  preface  to  the  tragical  melan- 
choly of  the  epoch  in  which  they  were  composed.  "At 
that  time,"  he  writes,  "we  were  much  further  from  our 
goal,  and  far  more  isolated."  The  elder  brothers  of 
Jean  Christophe  and  Olivier,  "less  robust  though  not  less 
fervent  in  the  faith,"  had  found  it  harder  to  defend  their 
beliefs,  to  maintain  their  idealism  at  its  lofty  level,  than 
did  the  youth  of  the  new  day,  living  in  a  stronger  France, 
a  freer  Europe.  Twenty  years  earlier,  the  shadow  of 
defeat  still  lay  athwart  the  land.  These  heroes  of  the 
French  spirit  had  been  compelled,  even  within  them- 
selves, to  fight  the  evil  genius  of  the  race,  to  combat 
'  doubts  as  to  the  high  destinies  of  their  nation,  to  strug- 
gle against  the  lassitude  of  the  vanquished.  Then  was 
jito  be  heard  the  cry  of  a  petty  era  lamenting  its  van- 
1[  ished  greatness;  it  aroused  no  echo  from  the  stage  or 

from  the  people;  it  wasted  itself  in  the  unresponsive 

76 


THE  TRAGEDIES  OF  FAITH  77 

skies — and  yet  it  was  the  expression  of  an  undying  faith 
in  life. 

Closely  akin  to  this  ardor  is  the  faith  voiced  by  Hol- 
land's dramatic  cycle,  though  the  plays  deal  with  such 
different  epochs,  and  are  so  diverse  in  the  range  of  their 
ideas.  He  wishes  to  depict  the  "courants  de  foi,"  the 
mysterious  streams  of  faith,  at  a  time  when  a  flame  of 
spiritual  enthusiasm  is  spreading  through  an  entire  na- 
tion, when  an  idea  is  flashing  from  mind  to  mind,  in- 
volving unnumbered  thousands  in  the  storm  of  an  illu- 
sion; when  the  calm  of  the  soul  is  suddenly  ruffled 
by  heroic  tumult;  when  the  word,  the  faith,  the  ideal, 
though  ever  invisible  and  unattainable,  transfuses  the 
inert  world  and  lifts  it  towards  the  stars.  It  matters 
nothing  in  ultimate  analysis  what  idea  fires  the  souls 
of  men,  whether  the  idea  be  that  of  Saint  Louis  for  the 
holy  sepulcher  and  Christ's  realm,  or  that  of  Aert  for  the 
fatherland,  or  that  of  the  Girondists  for  freedom.  The 
ostensible  goal  is  a  minor  matter;  the  essence  of  such 
movements  is  the  wonder-working  faith;  it  is  this  which 
assembles  a  people  for  crusades  into  the  east,  which 
summons  thousands  to  death  for  the  nation,  which  makes 
leaders  throw  themselves  willingly  under  the  guillo- 
tine. "Toute  la  vie  est  dans  I'essor,"  the  reality  of  life 
is  found  in  its  impetus,  as  Verhaeren  says;  that  alone  is 
beautiful  which  is  created  in  the  enthusiasm  of  faith. 
We  are  not  to  infer  that  these  early  heroes,  born  out  of 
due  time,  must  have  succumbed  to  discouragement  since 
they  failed  to  reach  their  goal;  one  and  all  they  had  to 
bow  their  souls  to  the  influences  of  a  petty  time.     That 


78  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

is  why  Saint  Louis  died  without  seeing  Jerusalem;  why 
Aert,  fleeing  from  bondage,  found  only  the  eternal  free- 
dom of  death;  why  the  Girondists  were  trampled  be- 
neath the  heels  of  the  mob.     These  men  had  the  true 
^       faith,  that  faith  which  does  not  demand  realization  in 
<    ^'this  world.     In  widely  separated  centuries,  and  against 
different  storms  of  time,  they  were  the  banner  bearers  of 
the  same  ideal,  whether  they  carried  the  cross  or  held 
the  sword,  whether  they  wore  the  cap  of  liberty  or  the 
visored  helm.     They  were  animated  with  the  same  en- 
thusiasm for  the  unseen;  they  had  the  same  enemy,  call 
it  cowardice,  call  it  poverty  of  spirit,  call  it  the  supine- 
ness  of  a  weary  age.     When  destiny  refused  them  the 
externals  of  greatness,  they  created  greatness  in  their 
own  souls.     Amid  unheroic  environments  they  displayed 
the  perennial  heroism  of  the  undaunted  will ;  the  triumph 
II  of  the  spirit  which,  when  animated  with  faith,  can  prove 
'  victorious  over  time. 

The  significance,  the  lofty  aim,  of  these  early  plays, 
was  their  intention  to  recall  to  the  minds  of  contempora- 
ries the  memory  of  forgotten  brothers  in  the  faith,  to 
arouse  for  the  service  of  the  spirit  and  not  for  the  ends 
of  brute  force  that  idealism  which  ever  burgeons  from 
the  imperishable  seed  of  youth.  Already  we  discern 
the  entire  moral  purport  of  Holland's  later  work,  the 
endeavor  to  change  the  world  by  the  force  of  inspira- 
^  tion.  "Tout  est  bien  qui  exalte  la  vie."  Everything 
which  exalts  life  is  good.  This  is  Holland's  confession 
of  faith,  as  it  is  that  of  his  own  Olivier.  Ardor  alone 
can  create  vital  realities.     There  is  no  defeat  over  which 


THE  TRAGEDIES  OF  FAITH  79 

the  will  cannot  triumph;  there  is  no  sorrow  above  which 
a  free  spirit  cannot  soar.  Who  wills  the  unattainable, 
is  stronger  than  destiny;  even  his  destruction  in  this  mor- 
tal world  is  none  the  less  a  mastery  of  fate.  The  tragedy 
of  his  heroism  kindles  fresh  enthusiasm,  which  seizes  the 
standard  as  it  slips  from  his  grasp,  to  raise  it  anew  and 
bear  it  onward  through  the  ages. 


&^ 


CHAPTER  VI 

SAINT    LOUIS 

1894 

THIS  epic  of  King  Louis  IX  is  a  drama  of  religious 
exaltation,  born  of  the  spirit  of  music,  an  adap- 
tation of  the  Wagnerian  idea  of  elucidating  an- 
cestral sagas  in  works  of  art.  It  was  originally  de- 
signed as  an  opera.  Holland  actually  composed  an  over- 
ture to  the  work ;  but  this,  like  his  other  musical  compo- 
sitions, remains  unpublished.  Subsequently  he  was 
satisfied  with  lyrical  treatment  in  place  of  music.  We 
find  no  touch  of  Shakespearean  passion  in  these  gentle 
pictures.  It  is  a  heroic  legend  of  the  saints,  in  dramatic 
form.  The  scenes  remind  us  of  a  phrase  of  Flaubert's 
in  La  legende  de  Saint  Julien  F Hospitaller,  in  that  they 
are  "written  as  they  appear  in  the  stained-glass  windows 
of  our  churches."  The  tints  are  delicate,  like  those  of 
the  frescoes  in  the  Pantheon,  where  Puvis  de  Chavannes 
depicts  another  French  saint,  Sainte  Genevieve  watching 
over  Paris.  The  soft  moonlight  playing  on  the  saint's 
figure  in  the  frescoes  is  identical  with  the  light  which  in 
Holland's  drama  shines  like  a  halo  of  goodness  round 
the  head  of  the  pious  king  of  France. 

80 


SAINT  LOUIS  81 

The  music  of  Parsifal  seems  to  sound  faintly  through 
the  work.  We  trace  the  lineaments  of  Parsifal  himself 
in  this  monarch,  to  whom  knowledge  comes  not  through 
sympathy  but  through  goodness,  and  who  finds  the  aptest 
phrase  to  explain  his  own  title  to  fame,  saying:  "Pour 
comprendre  les  autres,  il  ne  faut  qu'aimer" — To  under- 
stand others,  we  need  only  love.  His  leading  quality 
is  gentleness,  but  he  has  so  much  of  it  that  the  strong 
grow  weak  before  him;  he  has  nothing  but  his  faith,  but 
this  faith  builds  mountains  of  action.  He  neither  can 
nor  will  lead  his  people  to  victory ;  but  he  makes  his  sub- 
jects transcend  themselves,  transcend  their  own  inertia 
and  the  apparently  futile  venture  of  the  crusade,  to  at- 
tain faith.  Thereby  he  gives  the  whole  nation  the  great- 
ness which  ever  springs  from  self-sacrifice.  In  Saint 
Louis,  Holland  for  the  first  time  presents  his  favorite 
type,  that  of  the  vanquished  victor.  The  king  never 
reaches  his  goal,  but  "plus  qu'il  est  ecrase  par  les  choses 
plus  il  semble  les  dominer  davantage" — the  more  he 
seems  to  be  crushed  by  things,  the  more  does  he  dominate 
them.  When,  like  Moses,  he  is  forbidden  to  set  eyes  on 
the  promised  land,  when  it  proves  to  be  his  destiny  "de 
mourir  vaincu,"  to  die  conquered,  as  he  draws  his  last 
breath  on  the  mountain  slope  his  soldiers  at  the  summit, 
catching  sight  of  the  city  which  is  the  goal  of  their  aspira- 
tions, raise  an  exultant  shout.  Louis  knows  that  to  one 
who  strives  for  the  unattainable  the  world  can  never  give 
victory,  but  "il  est  beau  lutter  pour  I'impossible  quand 
I'impossible  est  Dieu" — it  is  glorious  to  fight  for  the 
unattainable  when  the  unattainable  is  God.     For  the  van- 


82  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

quished  in  such  a  struggle,  the  highest  triumph  is  re- 
served. He  has  stirred  up  the  weak  in  soul  to  do  a  deed 
whose  rapture  is  denied  to  himself;  from  his  own  faith 
he  has  created  faith  in  others;  from  his  own  spirit  has 
issued  the  eternal  spirit. 
r  Rolland's  first  published  work  exhales  the  atmosphere 
of  Christianity.  Humility  conquers  force,  faith  con- 
quers the  world,  love  conquers  hatred;  these  eternal 
truths  which  have  been  incorporated  in  countless  sayings 
and  writings  from  those  of  the  primitive  Christians  down 
to  those  of  Tolstoi,  are  repeated  once  again  by  RoUand 
in  the  form  of  a  legend  of  the  saints.  In  his  later  works, 
however,  with  a  freer  touch,  he  shows  that  the  power  of 
/^  Vfaith  is  not  tied  to  any  particular  creed.)  The  symboli- 
cal world,  which  is  here  used  as  a  romanticist  vehicle 
in  which  to  enwrap  his  own  idealism,  is  replaced  by  the 
environment  of  modern  days.  Thus  we  are  taught  that 
from  Saint  Louis  and  the  crusades  it  is  but  a  step  to  our 
own  soul,  if  it  desire  "to  be  great  and  to  defend  great- 
ness on  earth." 


CHAPTER  VII 

AERT 

1898 

AERT  was  written  a  year  later  than  Saint  Louis; 
more  explicitly  than  the  pious  epic  does  it  aim 
at  restoring  faith  and  idealism  to  the  disheart- 
ened nation.  Saint  Louis  is  a  heroic  legend,  a  tender 
reminiscence  of  former  greatness;  AertisHie  tragedy  of 
the  vanquished,  and  a  passionate  appeal  to  them  to 
awaken.  The  stage  directions  express  this  aim  clearly: 
"The  scene  is  cast  in  an  imaginary  Holland  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  We  see  a  people  broken  by  defeat  and, 
which  is  much  worse,  debased  thereby.  The  future  pre- 
sents itself  as  a  period  of  slow  decadence,  whose  antici- 
pation definitively  annuls  the  already  exhausted  energies. 
.  .  .  The  moral  and  political  humiliations  of  recent 
years  are  the  foundation  of  the  troubles  still  in  store." 

Such  is  the  environment  in  which  Holland  places  Aert, 
the  young  prince,  heir  to  vanished  greatness.  This  Hol- 
land is,  of  course,  symbolical  of  the  Third  Republic. 
Fruitless  attempts  are  made,  by  the  temptations  of  loose 
living,  by  various  artifices,  by  the  instilling  of  doubt,  to 
break  the  captive's  faith  in  greatness,  to  undermine  the 

83 


v. 


84  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

one  power  that  still  sustains  the  debile  body  and  the 
suffering  soul.  The  hypocrites  of  his  entourage  do  their 
utmost,  with  luxury,  frivolity,  and  lies,  to  wean  him  from 
what  he  considers  his  high  calling,  which  is  to  prove  him- 
self worthy  heir  of  a  glorious  past.  He  remains  un- 
shaken. His  tutor,  Maitre  Trojanus  (a  forerunner  of 
Anatole  France),  all  of  whose  qualities,  kindliness,  skep- 
ticism, energy,  and  wisdom,  are  but  lukewarm,  would 
like  to  make  a  Marcus  Aurelius  of  his  ardent  pupil,  one 
who  thinks  and  renounces  rather  than  one  who  acts.  The 
lad  proudly  answers:  "I  pay  due  reverence  to  ideas, 
but  I  recognize  something  higher  than  they,  moral  gran- 
deur."    In  a  laodicean  age,  he  yearns  for  action. 

But  action  is  force,  struggle  is  blood.  His  gentle 
spirit  desires  peace;  his  moral  will  craves  for  the  right. 
The  youth  has  within  him  both  a  Hamlet  and  a  Saint- 

/Just,  both  a  vacillator  and  a  zealot.  He  is  a  wraithlike 
double  of  Olivier,  already  able  to  reckon  up  all  val- 
ues. The  goal  of  Aert's  youthful  passion  is  still  inde- 
terminate; this  passion  is  nothing  but  a  flame  which 

i  wastes  itself  in  words  and  aspirations.  He  does  not 
make  the  deed  come  at  his  beckoning;  but  the  deed  takes 
possession  of  him,  dragging  the  weakling  down  with  it 
into  the  depths  whence  there  is  no  other  issue  than  by 
death.  From  degradation  he  finds  a  last  rescue,  a  path 
to  moral  greatness,  his  own  deed,  done  for  the  sake  of 
all.  Surrounded  by  the  scornful  victors,  calling  to  him 
"Too  late,"  he  answers  proudly,  "Not  too  late  to  be  free," 
and  plunges  headlong  out  of  life. 

This  romanticist  play  is  a  piece  of  tragical  Symbolism. 


AERT  85 

It  reminds  us  a  little  of  another  youthful  composition, 
the  work  of  a  poet  who  has  now  attained  fame.  I  refer 
to  Fritz  von  Unruh's  Die  Offiziere,  in  which  the  torment 
of  enforced  inactivity  and  repressed  heroic  will  gives  rise 
to  warlike  impulses  as  a  means  of  spiritual  enfranchise- 
ment. Like  Unruh's  hero,  Aert  in  his  outcry  proclaims 
the  torpor  of  his  companions,  voices  his  oppression  amid 
the  sultry  and  stagnant  atmosphere  of  a  time  devoid  of 
faith.  Encompassed  by  a  gray  materialism,  during  the 
years  when  Zola  and  Mirbeau  were  at  the  zenith  of  their 
fame,  the  lonely  Holland  was  hoisting  the  flag  of  the  ideal 
over  a  humiliated  land. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ATTEMPT   TO   REGENERATE    THE    FRENCH    STAGE 

WITH  whole-souled  faith  the  young  poet 
uttered  his  first  dramatic  appeals  in  the 
heroic  form,  being  mindful  of  Schiller's 
saying  that  fortunate  epochs  could  devote  themselves  to 
the  service  of  beauty,  whereas  in  times  of  weakness  it 
was  necessary  to  lean  upon  the  examples  of  past  heroism^ 
RoUand  had  issued  to  his  nation  a  summons  to  greatness. 
There  was  no  answer.  His  conviction  that  a  new  im- 
petus was  indispensable  remaining  unshaken,  Rolland 
looked  for  the  cause  of  this  lack  of  response.  He  rightly 
discerned  it,  not  in  his  own  work,  but  in  the  refractori- 
ness of  the  age.  Tolstoi,  in  his  books  and  in  the  won- 
derful letter  to  Rolland,  had  been  the  first  to  make  the 
young  man  realize  the  sterility  of  bourgeois  art.  Above 
^  all  in  the  drama,  its  most  sensual  form  of  expression,  that 
C  art  had  lost  touch  with  the  moral  and  emotional  forces  of 
life.  ;  A  clique  of  busy  playwrights  had  monopolized  the 
Parisian  stage.  Their  eternal  theme  was  adultery,  in 
its  manifold  variations.  They  depicted  petty  erotic  con- 
flicts, but  never  dealt  with  a  universally  human  ethical 
problem.     The  audiences,  badly  counseled  by  the  press, 

which   deliberately   fostered   the    public's    intellectual 

86 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE  87 

lethargy,  did  not  ask  to  be  morally  awakened,  but  merely 
to  be  amused  and  pleased.  The  theater  was  anything  in 
the  world  other  than  "the  moral  institution"  demanded 
by  Schiller  and  championed  by  d'Alembert.  No  breath 
of  passion  found  its  way  from  such  dramatic  art  as  this 
into  the  heart  of  the  nation;  there  was  nothing  but  spin- 
drift scattered  over  the  surface  by  the  breeze.  A  great 
gulf  was  fixed  between  this  witty  and  sensuous  amuse- 
ment, and  the  genuinely  creative  and  receptive  energies 
of  France. 

RoUand,  led  by  Tolstoi  and  accompanied  by  enthusi- 
astic friends,  realized  the  moral  dangers  of  the  situation. 
He  perceived  that  dramatic  art  is  worthless  and  destruc- 
tive when  it  lives  a  life  remote  from  the  people.  Uncon- 
sciously in  Aert  he  had  heralded  what  he  now  formu- 
lated as  a  definite  principle,  that  the  people  will  be  the 
first  to  understand  genuinely  heroic  problems.  The 
simple  craftsman  Claes  in  that  play  is  the  only  member 
of  the  captive  prince's  circle  who  revolts  against  tepid 
submission,  who  bums  at  the  disgrace  inflicted  on  his 
fatherland.     In  other  artistic  forms  than  the  drama,  the  ^^ . 

titanic  forces  surging  up  from  the  depths  of  the  people     ^niA^-  ^ 
had  already  been  recognized.     Zola  and  the  naturalists  ^^ 

had  depicted  the  tragical  beauty  of  the  proletariat ;  Millet  \/^^ 

and  Meunier  had  given  suctorial  and  sculptural  repre- 
sentations of  proletarians;  socialism  had  unleashed  the 
religious  might  of  the  collective  consciousness.  The 
theater  alone,  vehicle  for  the  most  direct  working  of  art 
upon  the  common  people,  had  been  captured  by  the  bour- 
geoisie,  its  tremendous  possibilities  for  promoting  a 


88  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

moral  renascence  being  thereby  cut  off.  Unceasingly 
did  the  drama  practice  the  in-and-in  breeding  of  sexual 
problems.  In  its  pursuit  of  erotic  trifles,  it  had  over- 
looked the  new  social  ideas,  the  most  fundamental  of 
modern  times.  It  was  in  danger  of  decay  because  it  no 
longer  thrust  its  roots  into  the  permanent  subsoil  of  the 
nation.  The  anaemia  of  dramatic  art,  as  Holland  recog- 
nized, could  be  cured  only  by  intimate  association  with 
the  life  of  the  people.  The  effeminateness  of  the  French 
drama  must  be  replaced  by  virility  through  vital  contact 
with  the  masses.  "Seul  la  seve  populaire  peut  lui 
rendre  la  vie  et  la  sante."  If  the  theater  aspires  to  be 
national,  it  must  not  merely  minister  to  the  luxury  of  the 
upper  ten  thousand.  It  must  become  the  moral  nutri- 
ment of  the  common  people,  and  must  draw  fertility  from 
the  folk-soul. 

Holland's  work  during  the  next  few  years  was  an  en- 
deavor to  provide  such  a  theater  for  the  people.  A  few_ 
young  men  without  influence  or  authority,  strong  only  in 
the  ardor  and  sincerity  of  their  youthfulness,  tried  to 
bring  this  lofty  idea  to  fruition,  despite  the  utter  indif- 
ference of  the  metropolis,  and  in  defiance  of  the  veiled 
hostility  of  the  press.  In  their  ''Revue  dramatique^' 
they  published  manifestoes.  They  sought  for  actors, 
stages,  and  helpers.  They  wrote  plays,  formed  commit- 
tees, sent  dispatches  to  ministers  of  state.  In  their  en- 
deavor to  bridge  the  chasm  between  the  bourgeois  theater 
and  the  nation,  they  wrought  with  the  fanatical  zeal  of 
the  leaders  of  forlorn  hopes.  Holland  was  their  chief. 
His  manifesto,  Le  theatre  du  peuple,  and  his  Theatre  de 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE  89 

la  revolution,  are  enduring  monuments  of  an  attempt 
which  temporarily  ended  in  defeat,  but  which,  like  all 
his  defeats,  has  been  transmuted,  humanly  and  artisti- 
cally, into  a  moral  triumph. 


m 


CHAPTER  IX 

AN  APPEAL  TO   THE   PEOPLE 

*  ^^  I  ^HE  old  era  is  finished;  the  new  era  is  begin- 
ning." Rolland,  writing  in  the  "Revue  dra- 
matique"  in  1900,  opened  his  appeal  with 
these  words  by  Schiller.  The  summons  was  two-fold, 
to  the  writers  and  to  the  people,  that  they  should  consti- 
tute a  new  unity,  should  form  a  people's  theater.  The 
stage  and  the  plays  were  to  belong  to  the  people.  Since 
the  forces  of  the  people  are  eternal  and  unalterable,  art 
must  accommodate  itself  to  the  people,  not  the  people  to 
art.  This  union  must  be  perfected  in  the  creative  depths. 
It  must  not  be  a  casual  intimacy,  but  a  permeation,  a 
genetic  wedding  of  souls.  The  people  requires  its  own 
art,  its  own  drama.  As  Tolstoi  phrased  it,  the  people 
must  be  the  ultimate  touchstone  of  all  values.  Its  pow- 
erful, mystical,  eternally  religious  energy  of  inspiration, 
must  become  more  affirmative  and  stronger,  so  that  art, 
which  in  its  bourgeois  associations  has  grown  morbid  and 
wan,  can  draw  new  vigor  from  the  vigor  of  the  people. 

To  this  end  it  is  essential  that  the  people  should  no 
longer  be  a  chance  audience,  transiently  patronized  by 
friendly  managers  and  actors.  The  popular  perform- 
ances of  the  great  theaters,  such  as  have  been  customary 

90 


AN  APPEAL  TO  THE  PEOPLE     91 

in  Paris  since  the  issue  of  Napoleon's  decree  on  the  sub- 
ject, do  not  suffice.  Valueless  also,  in  Holland's  view, 
are  the  attempts  made  from  time  to  time  by  the  Comedie 
Frangaise  to  present  to  the  workers  the  plays  of  such  court 
poets  as  Comeille  and  Racine.  The  people  do  not  want 
caviare,  but  wholesome  fare.  For  the  nourishment  of 
their  indestructible  idealism  they  need  an  art  of  their 
own,  a  theater  of  their  own,  and,  above  all,  works 
adapted  to  their  sensibilities  and  to  their  intellectual 
tastes.  When  they  come  to  the  theater,  they  must  not  be 
made  to  feel  that  they  are  tolerated  guests  in  a  world  of 
unfamiliar  ideas.  \  In  the  art  that  is  presented  to  them 
they  must  be  able  to  recognize  the  mainspring  of  their 
own  energies. 

More  appropriate,  in  Holland's  opinion,  are  the  at- 
tempts which  have  been  made  by  isolated  individuals  like 
Maurice  Pottecher  in  Bussang  (Vosges)  to  provide  a 
"theatre  du  peuple,"  presenting  to  restricted  audiences 
pieces  easily  understood.  But  such  endeavors  touch 
small  circles  only.  The  chasm  in  the  gigantic  metropolis 
between  the  stage  and  the  real  population  remains  un- 
bridged.  With  the  best  will  in  the  world,  the  twenty  or 
thirty  special  representations  are  witnessed  by  no  more 
than  an  infinitesimal  proportion  of  the  population. 
They  do  not  signify  a  spiritual  union,  or  promote  a  new 
moral  impetus.  Dramatic  art  has  no  permanent  influ- 
ence on  the  masses;  and  the  masses,  in  their  turn,  have 
no  influence  on  dramatic  art.  Though,  in  another  liter- 
ary sphere,  Zola,  Charles  Louis  Philippe,  and  Maupas- 
sant, began  long  ago  to  draw  fertile  inspiration  from 


> 


92  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

proletarian  idealism,  the  drama  has  remained  sterile  and 
antipopular. 

The  people,  therefore,   must  have   its   own  theater. 
When  this  has  been  achieved,  what  shall  we  offer  to  the 
popular  audiences?     Holland  makes  a  brief  survey  of 
world  literature.     The  result  is  appalling.     What  can 
the  workers  care  for  the  classical  pieces  of  the  French 
drama?     Corneille  and  Racine,  with  their  decorous  emo- 
tion, are  alien  to  him;  the  subtleties  of  Moliere  are 
barely  comprehensible.     The  tragedies  of  classical  an- 
tiquity, the  writings  of  the  Greek  dramatists,  would  bore 
the  workers;  Hugo's  romanticism  would  repel,  despite 
the  author's  healthy  instinct  for  reality.     Shakespeare, 
the  universally  human,  is  more  akin  to  the  folk-mind,  but 
his  plays  must  be  adapted  to  fit  them  for  popular  presen- 
tation, and  thereby  they  are  falsified.     Schiller,  with  Die 
Rduber  and  Wilhelm  Tell,  might  be  expected  to  arouse 
enthusiasm;  but  Schiller,  like  Kleist  with  Der  Prinz  von 
Homburg,  is,  for  -nationalist  reasons,  somewhat  uncon- 
genial to   the   Parisians.     Tolstoi's   The  Dominion  of 
Darkness  and  Hauptmann's  Die  Weber  would  be  compre- 
hensible enough,  but  their  matter  would  prove  somewhat 
depressing.     While  well  calculated  to  stir  the  consciences 
of  the  guilty,  among  the  people  they  would  arouse  feel- 
ings of  despair  rather  than  of  hope.     Anzengruber,  a 
genuine  folk-poet,  is  too  distinctively  Viennese  in  his 
topics.     Wagner,  whose  Die  Meistersinger  Rolland  re- 
gards as  the  climax  of  universally  comprehensible  and 
elevating  art,  cannot  be  presented  without  the  aid  of 
music. 


L 


AN  APPEAL  TO  THE  PEOPLE  93 

However  far  he  looks  back  into  the  past,  Rolland  can 
find  no  answer  to  his  question.  But  he  is  not  easily  dis- 
couraged. To  him  disappointment  is  but  a  spur  to  fresh 
effort.  If  there  are  as  yet  no  plays  for  the  people's 
theater,  it  is  the  sacred  duty  of  the  new  generation  to 
provide  what  is  lacking.     The  manifesto  ends  with  a  , 

jubilant  appeal:     "Tout  est  a  dire!     Tout  est  a  faire!    f  "^ 
A  I'oeuvre!"     In  the  beginning  was  the  deed. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    PROGRAM 

WHAT  kind  of  plays  do  the  people  want? 
It  wants  "good"  plays,  in  the  sense  in  which 
the  word  "good"  is  used  by  Tolstoi  when  he 
speaks  of  "good  books."  It  wants  plays  which  are  easy 
to  understand  without  being  commonplace;  those  which 
stimulate  faith  without  leading  the  spirit  astray;  those 
which  appeal,  not  to  sensuality,  not  to  the  love  of  sight- 
seeing, but  to  the  powerful  idealistic  instincts  of  the 
masses.  These  plays  must  not  treat  of  minor  conflicts; 
but,  in  the  spirit  of  the  antique  tragedies,  they  must  dis- 
play man  in  the  struggle  with  elemental  forces,  man  as 
subject  to  heroic  destiny.  "Let  us  away  with  compli- 
cated psychologies,  with  subtle  innuendoes,  with  obscure 
symbolisms,  with  the  art  of  drawing-rooms  and  alcoves." 
Art  for  the  people  must  be  monumental.  Though  the 
people  desires  truth,  it  must  not  be  delivered  over  to 
naturalism,  for  art  which  makes  the  masses  aware  of  their 
own  misery  will  never  kindle  the  sacred  flame  of  enthusi- 
asm, but  only  the  insensate  passion  of  anger.  If,  next 
day,  the  workers  are  to  resume  their  daily  tasks  with  a 
heightened  and  more  cheerful  confidence,  they  need  a 
tonic.     Thus  the  evening  must  have  been  a  source  of 

94 


THE  PROGRAM  95 

energy,  but  must  at  the  same  time  have  sharpened  the 
intelligence.  Undoubtedly  the  drama  should  display 
the  people  to  the  people,  not  however  in  the  proletarian 
dullness  of  narrow  dwellings,  but  on  the  pinnacles  of  the 
past.  Rolland  therefore  opines,  following  to  a  large 
extent  in  Schiller's  footsteps,  that  the  people's  theater 
must  be  historical  in  scope.  The  populace  must  not 
merely  make  its  own  acquaintance  on  the  stage,  but  must 
be;  brought  to  admire  its  own  past.  Here  we  see  the 
motif  to  which  Rolland  continually  returns,  the  need  for 
arousing  a  passionate  aspiration  towards  greatness.  In 
its  suffering,  the  people  must  learn  to  regain  delight  in 
its  own  self. 

With  marvelous  vividness  does  the  imaginative  his- 
torian display  the  epic  significance  of  history.  The 
forces  of  the  past  are  sacred  by  reason  of  the  spiritual 
energy  which  is  part  of  every  great  movement.  Reason- 
ing persons  can  hardly  fail  to  be  revolted  when  they  ob- 
serve the  unwarranted  amount  of  space  allotted  to  anec- 
dotes, accessories,  the  trifles  of  history,  at  the  expense 
of  its  living  soul.  The  power  of  the  past  must  be  awak- ' 
ened;  the  will  to  action  must  be  steeled.  Those  who  live 
to-day  must  learn  greatness  from  their  fathers  and  fore- 
fathers. "History  can  teach  people  to  get  outside  them- 
selves, to  read  in  the  souls  of  others.  We  discern  our- 
selves in  the  past,  in  a  mingling  of  like  characters  and 
differing  lineaments,  with  errors  and  vices  which  we  can 
avoid.  But  precisely  because  history  depicts  the  muta- 
ble, does  it  give  us  a  better  knowledge  of  the  unchang- 
ing." 


•^ 


/ 


96  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

What,  he  goes  on  to  ask,  have  French  dramatists  hith- 
erto brought  the  people  out  of  the  past?  The  burlesque 
figure  of  Cyrano;  the  gracefully  sentimental  personality 
of  the  duke  of  Reichstadt;  the  artificial  conception  of 
Madame  Sans-Gene!  "Tout  est  a  faire!  Tout  est  a 
dire!"  The  land  of  dramatic  art  still  lies  fallow.  "For 
France,  national  epopee  is  quite  a  new  thing.  Our  play- 
wrights have  neglected  the  drama  of  the  French  people, 
although  that  people  has  been  perhaps,  since  the  days  of 
Rome,  the  most  heroic  in  the  world.  Europe's  heart  was 
beating  in  the  kings,  the  thinkers,  the  revolutionists  of 
France.  And  great  as  this  nation  has  been  in  all  do- 
mains of  the  spirit,  its  greatness  has  been  shown  above  all 
in  the  field  of  action.  Herein  lay  its  most  sublime  crea- 
tion; here  was  its  poem,  its  drama,  its  epos.  France  did 
what  others  dreamed  of  doing.  France  wrote  no  Iliads, 
but  lived  a  dozen.  The  heroes  of  France  wrought  more 
splendidly  than  the  poets.  No  Shakespeare  sang  their 
deeds;  but  Danton  on  the  scaffold  was  the  spirit  of 
Shakespeare  personified.  The  life  of  France  has 
touched  the  loftiest  summits  of  joy;  it  has  plumbed  the 
deepest  abysses  of  sorrow.  It  has  been  a  wonderful 
*comedie  humaine,'  a  series  of  dramas ;  each  of  its  epochs 
a  new  poem."  This  past  must  be  recalled  to  life; 
French  historical  drama  must  restore  it  to  the  French 
people.  "The  spirit  which  soars  above  the  centuries, 
will  thus  soar  for  centuries  to  come.  If  we  would  en- 
gender strong  souls,  we  must  nourish  them  with  the  ener- 
gies of  the  world."  Rolland  now  expands  the  French 
ode  into  a  European  ode.     "The  world  must  be  our 


THE  PROGRAM  97 

theme,  for  a  nation  is  too  small."  One  hundred  and 
twenty  years  earlier,  Schiller  had  said:  "I  write  as  a 
citizen  of  the  world.  Early  did  I  exchange  my  father- 
land for  mankind."  Rolland  is  fired  by  Goethe's  words: 
"National  literature  now  means  very  little;  the  epoch  of 
world  literature  is  at  hand."  He  utters  the  following 
appeal:  "Let  us  make  Goethe's  prophesy  a  living  real- 
ity! It  is  our  task  to  teach  the  French  to  look  upon  their 
national  history  as  a  wellspring  of  popular  art;  but  on  no 
account  should  we  exclude  the  sagas  of  other  nations. 
Though  it  is  doubtless  our  first  duty  to  make  the  most  of 
the  treasures  we  have  ourselves  inherited,  we  must  none 
the  less  find  room  on  our  stage  for  the  great  deeds  of  all 
races.  Just  as  Anacharsis  Cloots  and  Thomas  Paine 
were  chosen  members  of  the  Convention;  just  as  Schiller, 
Klopstock,  Washington,  Priestley,  Bentham,  Pestalozzi, 
and  Kosciuszko,  are  the  heroes  of  our  world;  so  should 
we  inaugurate  in  Paris  the  epopee  of  the  European 
people!" 

Thus  did  Rolland's  manifesto,  passing  far  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  stage,  become  at  its  close  his  first  appeal  to 
Europe.  Uttered  by  a  solitary  voice,  it  remained  for  the 
time  unheeded  and  void  of  effect.  Nevertheless  the  con- 
fession of  faith  had  been  spoken;  it  was  indestructible; 
it  could  never  pass  away.  Jean  Christophe  had  pro- 
claimed his  message  to  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   CREATIVE   ARTIST 

THE  task  is  set.  Who  shall  accomplish  it?  Ro- 
main  Rolland  answers  by  putting  his  hand  to 
the  work.  The  hero  in  him  shrinks  from  no  de- 
feat; the  youth  in  him  dreads  no  difficulty.  An  epic  of 
the  French  people  is  to  be  written.  He  does  not  hesitate 
to  lay  the  foundations,  though  environed  by  the  silence 
and  indifference  of  the  metropolis.  As  always,  the 
impetus  that  drives  him  is  moral  rather  than  artistic. 
He  has  a  sense  of  personal  responsibility  for  an  entire^ 
nation.  By  such  productive,  by  such  heroic  idealism, 
alone,  and  not  by  a  purely  theoretical  idealism,  can  ideal- 
ism be  engendered. 

The  theme  is  easy  to  find.  Rolland  turns  to  the  great- 
est moment  of  French  history,  to  the  Revolution.  He 
responds  to  the  appeal  of  his  revolutionary  forefathers. 
On  the  27th  of  Floreal,  1794,  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety  issued  an  invocation  to  authors  "to  glorify  the 
chief  happenings  of  the  French  revolution;  to  compose 
republican  dramas;  to  hand  down  to  posterity  the  great 
epochs  of  the  French  renascence;  to  inspire  history  with 
the  firmness  of  character  appropriate  to  the  annals  of  a 
great  nation  defending  its  freedom  against  the  onslaught 

98 


THE  CREATIVE  ARTIST  99 

of  all  the  tyrants  of  Europe."  On  the  11th  of  Messidor, 
the  Committee  asked  young  authors  "boldly  to  recognize 
the  whole  magnitude  of  the  undertaking,  and  to  avoid 
the  easy  and  well-trodden  paths  of  mediocrity."  The 
signatories  of  these  decrees,  Danton,  Robespierre,  Car- 
not,  and  Couthon,  have  now  become  national  figures, 
legendary  heroes,  monuments  in  public  places.  Where 
restrictions  were  imposed  on  poetic  inspiration  by  undue 
proximity  to  the  subject,  there  is  now  room  for  the 
imagination  to  expand,  seeing  that  this  history  of  the 
period  is  remote  enough  to  give  free  play  to  the  tragic 
muse.  The  documents  just  quoted  issue  a  summons  to 
the  poet  and  the  historian  in  Rolland ;  but  the  same  chal- 
lenge rings  from  within  as  a  personal  heritage.  Boni- 
ard,  one  of  his  great-grandfathers  on  the  paternal  side, 
took  part  in  the  revolutionary  struggle  as  "an  apostle  of 
liberty,"  and  described  in  his  diary  the  storming  of  the 
Bastille.  More  than  half  a  century  later,  another  rela- 
tive was  fatally  stabbed  in  Clamecy  during  a  rising 
against  the  coup  d'etat.  The  blood  of  revolutionary 
zealots  runs  in  Rolland's  veins,  no  less  than  the  blood  of 
religious  devotees.  A  century  after  1792,  in  the  fervor 
of  commemoration,  he  reconstructed  the  great  figures  of 
that  glorious  past.  The  theater  in  which  the  "French 
Iliads"  were  to  be  staged  did  not  yet  exist;  no  one  had 
hitherto  recognized  Rolland  as  a  literary  force;  actors 
and  audience  were  alike  lacking.  Of  all  the  requisites 
for  the  new  creation,  there  existed  solely  his  own  faith 
and  his  own  will.  Building  upon  faith  alone,  he  began 
to  write  Le  theatre  de  la  revolution. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   DRAMA   OF    THE   REVOLUTION 

1898-1902 

PLANNING  this  "Iliad  of  the  French  People"  for 
the  people's  theater,  Rolland  designed  it  as  a 
decalogy,  as  a  time  sequence  of  ten  dramas 
'somewhat  after  the  manner  of  Shakespeare's  histories. 
"I  wished,"  he  writes  in  the  1909  preface  to  Le  theatre 
de  la  revolution,  "in  the  totality  of  this  work  to  exhibit 
as  it  were  the  drama  of  a  convulsion  of  nature,  to  depict  a 
social  storm  from  the  moment  when  the  first  waves  began 
to  rise  above  the  surface  of  the  ocean  down  to  the  mo- 
ment when  calm  spread  once  more  over  the  face  of  the 
waters."  No  by-play,  no  anecdotal  trifling,  was  to  miti- 
gate the  mighty  rhythm  of  the  primitive  forces.  "My 
leading  aim  was  to  purify  the  course  of  events,  as  far  as 
might  be,  from  all  romanticist  intrigue,  which  would 
serve  only  to  encumber  and  belittle  the  movement. 
Above  all  I  desired  to  throw  light  upon  the  great  politi- 
cal and  social  interests  on  behalf  of  which  mankind  has 
been  fighting  for  a  hundred  years."  It  is  obvious  that 
the  work  of  Schiller  is  closely  akin  to  the  idealistic  style 
of  this  people's  theater.     Comparing  Holland's  technique 

100 


THE  DRAMA  OF  THE  REVOLUTION     101 

with  Schiller's,  we  may  say  that  Rolland  was  thinking  of 
a  Don  Carlos  without  the  Eboli  episodes,  of  a  Wallen- 
stein  without  the  Thekla  sentimentalities.  He  wished  to 
show  the  people  the  sublimities  of  history,  not  to  enter- 
tain the  audience  with  anecdotes  of  popular  heroes. 

Thus  conceived  as  a  dramatic  cycle,  it  was  simultane- 
ously, from  the  musician's  outlook,  to  be  a  symphony, 
an  "Eroica."  A  prelude  was  to  introduce  the  whole,  a 
pastoral  in  the  style  of  the  "fetes  galantes."  We  are  at 
the  Trianon,  watching  the  lighthearted  unconcern  of  the. 
ancien  regime;  we  are  shown  powdered  and  patched 
ladies,  amorous  cavaliers,  dallying  and  chattering.  The 
storm  is  approaching,  but  no  one  heeds  it.  Once  again 
the  age  of  gallantry  smiles ;  the  setting  sun  of  the  Grand 
Monarque  seems  to  shine  once  more  on  the  fading  tints 
in  the  garden  of  Versailles. 

Le  14  Juillet  is  the  flourish  of  trumpets ;  it  marks  the 
opening  of  the  storm.  Danton  is  the  critical  climax;  in 
the  hour  of  victory  comes  the  beginning  of  moral  defeat, 
the  fratricidal  struggle. ,  A  Robespierre  was  to  introduce 
the  declining  phase.  Le  triomphe  de  la  raison  shows  the 
disintegration  of  the  Revolution  in  the  provinces;  Les 
loups  depicts  a  like  decomposition  in  the  army.  Be- 
tween two  of  the  heroic  plays,  the  author  proposed  to 
insert  a  love  drama,  describing  the  fate  of  Louvet,  the 
Girondist.  Wishing  to  visit  his  beloved  in  Paris,  he 
leaves  his  hiding-place  in  Gascony,  and  is  the  only  one 
to  escape  the  death  that  overtakes  his  friends,  who  are 
,all  guillotined  or  torn  to  pieces  by  the  wolves  as  they 
flee.     The  figures  of  Marat,  Saint-Just,  and  Adam  Lux, 


102  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

which  are  merely  touched  on  in  the  extant  plays,  were 
to  receive  detailed  treatment  in  the  dramas  that  remain 
unwritten.  Doubtless,  too,  the  figure  of  Napoleon  would 
have  towered  above  the  dying  Revolution. 

Opening  with  a  musical  and  lyrical  prelude,  this 
symphonic  composition  was  to  end  with  a  postlude. 
After  the  great  storm',  castaways  from  the  shipwreck  were 
to  foregather  in  Switzerland,  near  Soleure.  Royalists 
and  regicides,  Girondists  and  Montagnards,  were  to  ex- 
change reminiscences;  a  love  episode  between  two  of 
their  children  was  to  lend  an  idyllic  touch  to  the  after- 
math of  the  European  storm.  Fragments  only  of  this 
great  design  have  been  carried  to  completion,  comprising 
the  four  dramas,  Le  14  Juillet,  Danton,  Les  loups,  and 
Le  triomphe  de  la  raison.  When  these  plays  had  been 
written,  Rolland  abandoned  the  scheme,  to  which  the 
people,  like  the  literary  world  and  the  stage,  had  given  no 
encouragement.  For  more  than  a  decade  these  tragedies 
have  been  forgotten.  To-day,  perchance,  the  awakening 
impulses  of  an  age  becoming  aware  of  its  own  lineaments 
in  the  prophetic  image  of  a  world  convulsion,  may  arouse 
in  the  author  an  impulse  to  complete  what  was  so  magnifi- 
cently begun. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    FOURTEENTH   OF   JULY 
1902 

OF  the  four  completed  revolutionary  dramas,  Le 
14  Juillet  stands  first  in  point  of  historic  time. 
Here  we  see  the  Revolution  as  one  of  the  ele- 
ments of  nature.  No  conscious  thought  has  formed  it; 
no  leader  has  guided  it.  Like  thunder  from  a  clear  sky 
comes  the  aimless  discharge  of  the  tensions  that  have  ac- 
cumulated among  the  people.  The  thunderbolt  strikes 
the  Bastille;  the  lightning  flash  illumines  the  soul  of  the 
entire  nation.  This  piece  has  no  heroes,  for  the  hero 
of  the  play  is  the  multitude.  "Individuals  are  merged 
in  the  ocean  of  the  people,"  writes  Rolland  in  the  preface. 
"He  who  limns  a  storm  at  sea,  need  not  paint  the  details 
of  every  wave ;  he  must  show  the  unchained  forces  of  the 
ocean.  Meticulous  precision  is  a  minor  matter  com- 
pared with  the  impassioned  truth  of  the  whole."  In 
actual  fact,  this  drama  is  all  tumultuous  movement;  in- 
dividuals rush  across  the  stage  like  figures  on  the  cine- 
matographic screen;  the  storming  of  the  Bastille  is  not 
the  outcome  of  a  reasoned  purpose,  but  of  an  overwhelm- 
ing, an  ecstatic  impulse. 

103 


104  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Le  14  Juillet,  therefore,  is  not  properly  speaking  a 
drama,  and  does  not  really  seek  to  be  anything  of  the 
kind.  Consciously  or  unconsciously,  Holland  aimed  at 
creating  one  of  those  "fetes  populaires"  which  the  Con- 
vention had  encouraged,  a  people's  festival  with  music 
and  dancing,  an  epinikion,  a  triumphal  ode.  His  work, 
therefore,  is  not  suitable  for  the  artificial  environment  of 
the  boards,  and  should  rather  be  played  under  the  free 
heaven.  Opening  symphonically,  it  closes  in  exultant 
choruses  for  which  the  author  gives  definite  directions  to 
the  composer.  "The  music  must  be,  as  it  were,  the  back- 
ground of  a  fresco.  It  must  make  manifest  the  heroical 
significance  of  the  festival;  it  must  fill  in  pauses  as  they 
can  never  be  adequately  filled  in  by  a  crowd  of  super- 
numeraries, for  these,  however  much  noise  they  make, 
fail  to  sustain  the  illusion  of  real  life.  This  music 
should  be  inspired  by  that  of  Beethoven,  which  more 
powerfully  than  any  other  reflects  the  enthusiasms  of  the 
Revolution.  Above  all,  it  must  breathe  an  ardent  faith. 
No  composer  will  effect  anything  great  in  this  vein  unless 
he  be  personally  inspired  by  the  soul  of  the  people, 
unless  he  himself  feel  the  burning  passion  that  is  here 
portrayed." 

Rolland  wishes  to  create  an  atmosphere  of  ecstatic 
rapture.  Not  by  dramatic  excitement,  but  by  its  oppo- 
site. The  theater  is  to  be  forgotten ;  the  multitude  in  the 
audience  is  to  become  spiritually  at  one  with  its  image  on 
the  stage.  In  the  last  scene,  when  the  phrases  are 
directly  addressed  to  the  audience,  when  the  stormers  of 
the  Bastille  appeal  to  their  hearers  on  behalf  of  the  im- 


THE  FOURTEENTH  OF  JULY  105 

perishable  victory  which  leads  men  to  break  the  yoke  of 
oppression  and  to  win  brotherhood,  this  idea  must  not  be 
a  mere  echo  from  the  members  of  the  audience,  but  must 
surge  up  spontaneously  in  their  own  hearts.  The  cry 
"tous  freres"  must  be  a  double  chorus  of  actors  and 
spectators,  for  the  latter,  part  of  the  "courant  de  foi," 
must  share  the  intoxication  of  joy.  The  spark  from  their 
own  past  must  rekindle  in  the  hearts  of  to-day.  It  is 
manifest  tliat  words  alone  will  not  suffice  to  produce  this 
effect.  Hence  Rolland  wishes  to  superadd  the  higher 
spell  of  music,  the  undying  goddess  of  pure  ecstasy. 

The  audience  of  which  he  dreamed  was  not  forthcom- 
ing; nor  until  twenty  years  had  elapsed  was  he  to  find 
Doyen,  the  musician  who  was  almost  competent  to  fulfill 
his  demands.  The  representation  in  the  Gemier  Theater 
on  March  21,  1902,  wasted  itself  in  the  void.  His  mes- 
sage never  reached  the  people  to  whose  ear  it  had  been  so 
vehemently  addressed.  Without  an  echo,  almost  piti- 
fully, was  this  ode  of  joy  drowned  in  the  roar  of  the 
great  city,  which  had  forgotten  the  deeds  of  the  past,  and 
which  failed  to  understand  its  own  kinship  to  Rolland, 
the  man  who  was  recalling  those  deeds  to  memory. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DANTON 
1900 

DANTON  deals  with  a  decisive  moment  of  the 
Revolution,  the  waterparting  between  the  ascent 
and  the  decline.  What  the  masses  had  created 
as  elemental  forces,  were  now  being  turned  to  personal 
advantage  by  individuals,  by  ambitious  leaders.  Every 
spiritual  movement,  and  above  all  every  revolution  or 
reformation,  knows  this  tragical  instant  of  victory,  when 
power  passes  into  the  hands  of  the  few;  when  moral  unity 
is  broken  in  sunder  by  the  conflict  between  political  aims ; 
when  the  masses,  who  in  an  impetuous  onrush  have 
secured  freedom,  blindly  follow  demagogues  inspired 
solely  by  self-interest.  It  seems  to  be  an  inevitable 
sequel  of  success  in  such  cases,  that  the  nobler  should 
stand  aside  in  disillusionment,  that  the  idealists  should 
hold  aloof  while  the  self-seeking  triumph.  At  that  very 
time,  in  the  Dreyfus  affair,  Rolland  had  witnessed  simi- 
lar happenings.  He  realized  that  the  genuine  strength 
of  an  idea  subsists  only  during  its  non-fulfilment.  Its 
true  power  is  in  the  hands  of  those  who  are  not  victori- 
ous; those  to  whom  the  ideal  is  everything,  success  noth- 

106 


DANTON  107 

ing.     Victory  brings  power,  and  power  is  just  to  itself 
alone. 

The  play,  therefore,  is  no  longer  a  drama  of  the  ) 
Revolution;  it  is  the  drama  of  the  great  revolutionist.' 
Mystical  power  crystallizes  in  the  form  of  human  charac- 
ters. Resoluteness  becomes  contentiousness.  In  the 
very  intoxication  of  victory,  in  the  queasy  atmosphere  of 
the  blood-stained  field,  begins  the  new  struggle  among  the 
pretorians  for  the  empire  they  have  conquered.  There 
is  struggle  between  ideas ;  struggle  between  personalities ; 
struggle  between  temperaments ;  struggle  between  persons 
of  different  social  origin.  Now  that  they  are  no  longer 
united  as  comrades  by  the  compulsion  of  imminent  dan- 
ger, they  recognize  their  mutual  incompatibilities.  The 
revolutionary  crisis  comes  in  the  hour  of  triumph.  The  | 
hostile  armies  have  been  defeated;  the  royalists  and  the  j 
Girondists  have  been  crushed  and  scattered.  Now  there 
arises  in  the  Convention  a  battle  of  all  against  all.  The 
characters  are  admirably  delineated.  Danton  is  the 
good  giant,  sanguine,  warm,  and  human,  a  hurricane  in 
his  passions  but  with  no  love  of  fighting  for  fighting's 
sake.  He  has  dreamed  of  the  Revolution  as  bringing 
joy  to  mankind,  and  now  sees  that  it  has  culminated  in  a 
new  tyranny.  He  is  sickened  by  bloodshed,  and  he 
detests  the  butcher's  work  of  the  guillotine,  just  as  Christ 
would  have  loathed  the  Inquisition  claiming  to  represent 
the  spirit  of  his  teaching.  He  is  filled  with  horror  at  his 
fellows.  "Je  suis  soule  des  hommes.  Je  les  vomis." — 
I  am  surfeited  with  men.  I  spue  them  out  of  my  mouth. 
— He  longs  for  a  frank  naturalness,  for  an  unsophisti- 


108  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

cated  natural  life.  Now  that  the  danger  to  the  republic 
is  over,  his  passion  has  cooled;  his  love  goes  out  to 
woman,  to  the  people,  to  happiness;  he  wishes  others  to 
love  him.  His  revolutionary  fervor  has  been  the  out- 
come of  an  impulse  towards  freedom  and  justice;  hence 
he  is  beloved  by  the  masses,  who  recognize  in  him  the 
instinct  which  led  them  to  storm  the  Bastille,  the  same 
scgm  of  consequence,  the  same  marrow  as  their  own. 
Robespierre  is  uncongenial  to  them.  He  is  too  frigid,  he 
is  too  much  the  lawyer,  to  enlist  their  sympathies.  But 
his  doctrinaire  fanaticism,  his  far  from  ignoble  ambition, 
give  him  a  terrible  power  which  makes  him  forge  his 
way  onwards  when  Danton  with  his  cheerful  love  of  life 
has  ceased  to  strive.  Whilst  Danton  becomes  every  day 
more  and  more  nauseated  by  politics,  the  concentrated 
energy  of  Robespierre's  frigid  temperament  strikes  ever 
closer  towards  the  centralized  control  of  power.  Like 
his  friend  Saint-Just — the  zealot  of  virtue,  the  blood- 
thirsty apostle  of  justice,  the  stubborn  papist  or  calvinist 
— Robespierre  can  no  longer  see  human  beings,  who  for 
him  are  now  hidden  behind  the  theories,  the  laws,  and  the 
dogmas  of  the  new  religion.  Not  for  him,  as  for  Dan- 
ton, the  goal  of  a  happy  and  free  humanity.  What  he 
desires  is  that  men  shall  be  virtuous  as  the  slaves  of  pre- 
scribed formulas.  The  collision  between  Danton  and 
Robespierre  upon  the  topmost  summit  of  victory  is  in 
ultimate  analysis  the  collision  between  freedom  and  law, 
between  the  elasticity  of  life  and  the  rigidity  of  concepts. 
Danton  is  overthrown.  He  is  too  indolent,  too  heedless, 
too  human  in  his  defense.     But  even  as  he  falls  it  is  plain 


DANTON  109 

that  he  will  drag  his  opponent  after  him  adown  the 
precipice. 

In  the  composition  of  this  tragedy  Rolland  shows  him- 
self to  be  wholly  the  dramatist.  Lyricism  has  disap- 
peared; emotion  has  vanished  amid  the  rush  of  events; 
the  conflict  arises  from  the  liberation  of  human  energy, 
from  the  clash  of  feelings  and  of  personalities.  In  Le 
14  Juillet  the  masses  had  played  the  principal  part,  but 
in  this  new  phase  of  the  Revolution  they  have  become 
mere  spectators  once  more.  Their  will,  which  had  been 
concentrated  during  a  brief  hour  of  enthusiasm,  has  been 
broken  into  fragments,  so  that  they  are  blown  before 
every  breath  of  oratory.  The  ardors  of  the  Revolution 
are  dissipated  in  intrigues.  It  is  not  the  heroic  instinct 
of  the  people  which  now  dominates  the  situation,  but 
the  authoritarian  and  yet  indecisive  spirit  of  the  intel- 
lectuals. Whilst  in  Le  14  Juillet  Rolland  exhibits  to 
his  nation  the  greatness  of  its  powers;  in  Danton  he 
depicts  the  danger  of  its  all  too  prompt  relapse  into 
passivity,  the  peril  that  ever  follows  hard  upon  the  heels 
of  victory.  From  this  outlook,  therefore,  Danton  like-' 
wise  is  a  call  to  action,  an  energizing  elixir.  Thus  did 
Jaures  characterize  it,  Jaures  who  himself  resembled 
Danton  in  his  power  of  oratory,  introducing  the  work 
when  it  was  staged  at  the  Theatre  Civique  on  December 
20,  1900 — a  performance  forgotten  in  twenty-four 
hours,  like  all  Rolland's  early  eff"orts. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   TRIUMPH   OF   REASON 
1899 

LE  triomphe  de  la  raison  is  no  more  than  a  frag- 
ment of  the  great  fresco.  But  it  is  inspired 
with  the  central  thought  round  which  Rolland's 
ideas  turn.  In  it  for  the  first  time  there  is  a  complete 
exposition  of  the  dialectic  of  defeat — the  passionate 
advocacy  of  the  vanquished,  the  transformation  of  actual 
overthrow  into  spiritual  triumph.  This  thought,  first 
conceived  in  his  childhood  and  reinforced  by  all  his  ex- 
perience, forms  the  kernel  of  the  author's  moral  sensi- 
bility. The  Girondists  have  been  defeated,  and  are  de- 
fending themselves  in  a  fortress  against  the  sansculottes. 
The  royalists,  aided  by  the  English,  wish  to  rescue  them. 
Their  ideal,  the  freedom  of  the  spirit  and  the  freedom 
of  the  fatherland,  has  been  destroyed  by  the  Revolution ; 
their  foes  are  Frenchmen.  But  the  royalists  who  would 
help  them  are  likewise  their  enemies;  the  English  are 
their  country's  foes.  Hence  arises  a  conflict  of  con- 
science which  is  powerfully  portrayed.  Are  they  to  be 
faithless  to  their  ideal,  or  to  betray  their  country?  Are 
they  to  be  citizens  of  the  spirit  or  citizens  of  France? 

110 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  REASON  111 

Are  they  to  be  true  to  themselves  or  true  to  the  nation? 
Such  is  the  fateful  decision  with  which  they  are  con- 
fronted. They  choose  death,  for  they  know  that  their 
ideal  is  immortal,  that  the  freedom  of  a  nation  is  but  the 
reflection  of  an  inner  freedom  which  no  foe  can  destroy. 
For  the  first  time,  in  this  play,  Rolland  proclaims  his 
hostility  to  victory.  Faber  proudly  declares:  "We 
have  saved  our  faith  from  a  victory  which  would  have 
disgraced  us,  from  one  wherein  the  conqueror  is  the  first 
victim.  In  our  unsullied  defeat,  that  faith  looms  more 
richly  and  gloriously  than  before."  Lux,  the  German 
revolutionist,  proclaims  the  gospel  of  inner  freedom  in 
the  words:  "All  victory  is  evil,  whereas  all  defeat  is 
good  in  so  far  as  it  is  the  outcome  of  free  choice." 
Hugot  says :  "I  have  outstripped  victory,  and  that  is  my 
victory."  These  men  of  noble  mind  who  perish,  know 
that  they  die  alone;  they  do  not  look  towards  a  future 
success;  they  put  no  trust  in  the  masses,  for  they  are 
aware  that  in  the  higher  sense  of  the  term  freedom  it  is  a 
thing  which  the  multitude  can  never  understand,  that  the 
people  always  misconceives  the  best.  "The  people  al- 
ways dreads  those  who  form  an  elite,  for  these  bear 
torches.  Would  that  the  fire  might  scorch  the  people!" 
In  the  end,  the  only  home  of  these  Girondists  is  the  ideal; 
their  domain  is  an  ideal  freedom;  their  world  is  the  fu- 
ture. They  have  saved  their  country  from  the  despots; 
now  they  had  to  defend  it  once  again  against  the  mob  lust- 
ing for  dominion  and  revenge,  against  those  who  care 
no  more  for  freedom  than  the  despots  cared.  Design- 
edly, the  rigid  nationalists,  those  who  demand  that  a 


112  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

man  shall  sacrifice  everything  for  his  country,  shall  sacri- 
fice his  convictions,  liberty,  reason  itself,  designedly  I 
say  are  these  monomaniacs  of  patriotism  typified  in  the 
plebeian  figure  of  Haubourdin.  This  sansculotte  knows 
only  two  kinds  of  men,  "traitors"  and  "patriots,"  thus 
rending  the  world  in  twain  in  his  bigotry.  It  is  true  that 
the  vigor  of  his  brutal  partisanship  brings  victory.  But 
the  very  force  that  makes  it  possible  to  save  a  people 
against  a  world  in  arms,  is  at  the  same  time  a  force  which 
destroys  that  people's  most  gracious  blossoms. 

The  drama  is  the  opening  of  an  ode  to  the  free  man, 
to  the  hero  of  the  spirit,  the  only  hero  whose  heroism 
Rolland  acknowledges.  The  conception,  which  had 
been  merely  outlined  in  Aert,  begins  here  to  take  more 
definite  shape.  Adam  Lux,  a  member  of  the  Mainz 
revolutionary  club,  who,  animated  by  the  fire  of  enthusi- 
asm, has  made  his  way  to  France  that  he  may  live  for 
freedom  (and  that  he  may  be  led  in  pursuit  of  freedom 
to  the  guillotine),  this  first  martyr  to  idealism,  is  the 
first  messenger  from  the  land  of  Jean  Christophe.  The 
struggle  of  the  free  man  for  the  undying  fatherland  which 
is  above  and  beyond  the  land  of  his  birth,  has  begun. 
This  is  the  struggle  wherein  the  vanquished  is  ever  the 
victor,  and  wherein  he  is  the  strongest  who  fights  alone. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   WOLVES 
1898 

IN  Le  triomphe  de  la  raison,  men  to  whom  consci- 
ence is  supreme  were  confronted  with  a  vital  deci- 
sion. They  had  to  choose  between  their  country 
and  freedom,  between  the  intrests  of  the  nation  and 
those  of  the  supranational  spirit.  Les  loups  embodies  a 
variation  of  the  same  theme.  Here  the  choice  has  to  be 
made  between  the  fatherland  and  justice. 

The  subject  has  already  been  mooted  in  Danton. 
Robespierre  and  his  henchmen  decide  upon  the  execution 
of  Danton.  They  demand  his  immediate  arrest  and 
condemnation.  Saint-Just,  passionately  opposed  to 
Danton,  makes  no  objection  to  the  prosecution,  but  in- 
sists that  all  must  be  done  in  due  form  of  law.  Robes- 
pierre, aware  that  delay  will  give  the  victory  to  Danton, 
wishes  the  law  to  be  infringed.  His  country  is  worth 
more  to  him  than  the  law.  "Vaincre  a  tout  prix" — 
conquer  at  any  cost — calls  one.  "When  the  country  is 
in  danger,  it  matters  nothing  that  one  man  should  be 
illegally  condemned,"  cries  another.     Saint-Just  bows 

113 


114  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

before  the  argument,  sacrificing  honor  to  expediency, 
the  law  to  his  fatherland. 

In  Les  loups,  we  have  the  obverse  of  the  same  tragedy. 
Here  is  depicted  a  man  who  would  rather  sacrifice  him- 
self than  the  law.  One  who  holds  with  Faber  in  Le 
triomphe  de  la  raison  that  a  single  injustice  makes  the 
whole  world  unjust;  one  to  whom,  as  to  Hugot,  the  other 
hero  in  the  same  play,  it  seems  indifferent  whether  jus- 
tice be  victorious  or  be  defeated,  so  long  as  justice  does 
not  give  up  the  struggle.  Teulier,  the  man  of  learning, 
knows  that  his  enemy  d'Oyron  has  been  unjustly  accused 
of  treachery.  Though  he  realizes  that  the  case  is  hope- 
less and  that  he  is  wasting  his  pains,  he  undertakes  to  de- 
fend d'Oyron  against  the  patriotic  savagery  of  the  revo- 
lutionary soldiers,  to  whom  victory  is  the  only  argument. 
Adopting  as  his  motto  the  old  saying,  "fiat  justitia,  pereat 
mundus,"  facing  open-eyed  all  the  dangers  this  involves, 
he  would  rather  repudiate  life  than  the  leadings  of  the 
spirit.  "A  soul  which  has  seen  truth  and  seeks  to  deny 
truth,  destroys  itself."  But  the  others  are  of  tougher 
fiber,  and  think  only  of  success  in  arms.  "Let  my  name 
be  besmirched,  provided  only  my  country  is  saved,"  is 
Quesnel's  answer  to  Teulier.  Patriotism,  the  faith  of 
the  masses,  triumphs  over  the  heroism  of  faith  in  the  in- 
visible justice. 

This  tragedy  of  a  conflict  recurring  throughout  the 
ages,  one  which  every  individual  has  forced  upon  him  in 
wartime  through  the  need  for  choosing  between  his  re- 
sponsibilities as  a  free  moral  agent  and  as  an  obedient 


THE  WOLVES  115 

citizen  of  the  state,  was  the  reflection  of  the  actual  hap- 
penings during  the  days  when  it  was  written.  In  Les 
loups,  the  Dreyfus  affair  is  emhloraatically  presented  in 
masterly  fashion.  Dreyfus  the  Jew  is  typified  by  an 
aristocrat,  the  member  of  a  suspect  and  detested  social 
stratum.  Picquart,  the  defender  of  Dreyfus,  is  Teulier. 
The  aristocrat's  enemies  represent  the  French  general 
headquarters  staff,  who  would  rather  perpetuate  an  in- 
justice once  committed  than  allow  the  honor  of  the 
army  to  be  tarnished  or  confidence  in  the  army  to  be 
undermined.  Upon  a  narrow  stage,  and  yet  with  ef- 
fective pictorial  force,  in  this  tragedy  of  army  life  was 
compressed  the  whole  of  the  history  which  was  agitating 
France  from  the  presidential  palace  down  to  the  hum- 
blest working-class  dwelling.  The  performance  at  the 
Theatre  de  I'Oeuvre  on  May  18,  1898,  was  from  first  to 
last  a  political  demonstration.  Zola,  Scheurer-Kestner, 
Peguy,  and  Picquart,  the  defenders  of  the  innocent  man, 
all  the  chief  figures  in  the  world-famous  trial,  were  for 
two  hours  spectators  of  the  dramatic  symbolization  of 
their  own  deeds.  Holland  had  grasped  and  extracted  the 
moral  essence  of  the  Dreyfus  affair,  which  had  in  fact 
become  a  purifying  process  for  the  whole  French  nation. 
Leaving  history,  the  author  had  made  his  first  venture 
into  the  field  of  contemporary  actuality.  But  he  had 
done  this  only,  in  accordance  with  the  method  he  has 
followed  ever  since,  that  he  might  disclose  the  eternal 
elements  in  the  temporal,  and  defend  freedom  of  opinion 
against  mob  infatuation.     He  was  on  this  occasion  what 


116  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

he  has  always  remained,  the  advocate  of  that  heroism 
which  knows  one  authority  only,  neither  fatherland  nor 
victory,  neither  success  nor  expediency,  nothing  but  the 
Supreme  authority  of  conscience. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    CALL    LOST    IN    THE   VOID 

THE  ears  of  the  people  were  deaf.  Holland's 
work  seemed  to  have  been  fruitless.  Not  one  of 
the  dramas  was  played  for  more  than  a  few 
nights.  Most  of  them  were  buried  after  a  single  per- 
formance, slain  by  the  hostility  of  the  critics  and  the  in- 
difference of  the  crowd.  Futile,  too,  had  been  the  strug- 
gles of  RoUand  and  his  friends  on  behalf  of  the  people's 
theater.  The  government  to  which  they  had  addressed 
an  appeal  for  the  founding  of  a  popular  theater  in  Paris, 
paid  little  attention.  M.  Adrien  Bemheim  was  dis- 
patched to  Berlin  to  make  inquiries.  He  reported. 
Further  reports  were  made.  The  matter  was  discussed 
for  a  while,  but  was  ultimately  shelved.  Rostand  and 
Bernstein  continued  to  triumph  in  the  boulevards;  the 
great  call  to  idealism  had  remained  unheard. 

Where  could  the  author  look  for  help  in  the  comple- 
tion of  his  splendid  program?  To  what  nation  could  he 
turn  when  his  own  made  no  response,  Le  theatre  de  la 
revolution  remained  a  fragment.  A  Robespierre,  which 
was  to  be  the  spiritual  counterpart  of  Danton,  already 
sketched  in  broad   outline,  was  left  unfinished.     The 

other  segments  of  the  great  dramatic  cycle  have  never 

117 


118  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

been  touched.  Bundles  of  studies,  newspaper  cuttings, 
loose  leaves,  manuscript  books,  waste  paper,  are  the 
vestiges  of  an  edifice  which  was  planned  as  a  pantheon 
for  the  French  people,  a  theater  which  was  to  reflect  the 
heroic  achievements  of  the  French  spirit.  Holland  may 
well  have  shared  the  feelings  of  Goethe  who,  mournfully 
recalling  his  earlier  dramatic  dreams,  said  on  one  occa- 
sion to  Eckermann:  "Formerly  I  fancied  it  would  be 
possible  to  create  a  German  theater.  I  cherished  the 
illusion  that  I  could  myself  contribute  to  the  foundations 
of  such  a  building  .  .  .  But  there  was  no  stir  in  response 
to  my  efforts,  and  everything  remains  as  of  old.  Had 
I  been  able  to  exert  an  influence,  had  I  secured  ap- 
proval, I  should  have  written  a  dozen  plays  like  Iphigenia 
and  Tasso.  There  was  no  scarcity  of  material.  But,  as 
I  have  told  you,  we  lack  actors  to  play  such  pieces  with 
spirit,  and  we  lack  a  public  to  form  an  appreciative 
audience." 

The  call  was  lost  in  the  void.  "There  was  no  stir  in 
response  to  my  efforts,  and  everything  remains  as  of 
old."  But  Holland,  likewise,  remains  as  of  old,  inspired 
with  the  same  faith,  whether  he  has  succeeded  or  whether 
he  has  failed.  He  is  ever  willing  to  begin  work  over 
again,  marching  stoutly  across  the  land  of  lost  endeavor 
towards  a  new  and  more  distant  goal.  We  may  apply 
to  him  Rilke's  fine  phrase,  and  say  that,  if  he  needs  must 
be  vanquished,  he  aspires  "to  be  vanquished  always  in  a 
greater  and  yet  greater  cause." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A   DAY   WILL    COME 
1902 

ONCE  only  has  Rolland  been  tempted  to  resume 
dramatic  composition.  (Parenthetically  I 
may  mention  a  minor  play  of  the  same  per- 
iod, La  Montespan,  which  does  not  belong  to  the  series 
of  his  greater  works.)  As  in  the  case  of  the  Dreyfus 
affair,  he  endeavored  to  extract  the  moral  essence  from 
political  occurrences,  to  show  how  a  spiritual  conflict 
was  typified  in  one  of  the  great  happenings  of  the  time. 
The  Boer  War  is  no  more  than  a  vehicle;  just  as,  for  the 
plays  we  have  been  studying,  the  Revolution  was  merely 
a  stage.  The  new  drama  deals  in  actual  fact  with  the 
only  auhority  Rolland  rcognizes,  conscience.  The  con- 
science of  the  individual  and  the  conscience  of  the 
world. 

Le  temps  viendra  is  the  third,  the  most  impressive 
variation  upon  the  earlier  theme,  depicting  the  cleavage 
between  conviction  and  duty,  citizenship  and  humanity, 
the  national  man  and  the  free  man.  A  war  drama  of 
the  conscience  staged  amid  a  war  in  the  material  world. 
In  Le  triomphe  de  la  raison,  the  problem  was  one  of  free- 
dom versus  the  fatherland;  in  Les  loups  it  was  one  of 

119 


120  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

justice  versus  the  fatherland.  Here  we  have  a  yet  loftier 
variation  of  the  theme;  the  conflict  of  conscience,  of 
eternal  truth,  versus  the  fatherland.  The  chief  figure, 
though  not  spiritually  the  hero  of  the  piece,  is  Clifford, 
leader  of  the  invading  army.  He  is  waging  an  unjust 
war — and  what  war  is  just?  But  he  wages  it  with  a 
strategist's  brain;  his  heart  is  not  in  the  work.  He  knows 
"how  much  rottenness  there  is  in  war";  he  knows  that 
war  cannot  be  effectively  waged  without  hatred  for  the 
enemy;  but  he  is  too  cultured  to  hate.  He  knows  that 
it  is  impossible  to  carry  on  war  without  falsehood;  im- 
possible to  kill  without  infringing  the  principles  of  hu- 
manity; impossible  to  create  military  justice,  since  the 
whole  aim  of  war  is  unjust.  He  knows  this  with  one 
part  of  his  being,  which  is  the  real  Clifford;  but  he  has 
to  repudiate  the  knowledge  with  the  other  part  of  his 
being,  the  professional  soldier.  He  is  confined  within 
an  iron  ring  of  contradictions.  "Obeir  a  ma  patrie? 
Obeir  a  ma  conscience?"  It  is  impossible  to  gain  the 
victory  without  doing  wrong,  yet  who  can  command  an 
army  if  he  lack  the  will  to  conquer?  Clifford  must  serve 
that  will,  even  while  he  despises  the  force  which  his  duty 
compels  him  to  use.  He  cannot  be  a  man  unless  he 
thinks,  and  yet  he  cannot  remain  a  soldier  while  pre- 
serving his  humanity.  Vainly  does  he  seek  to  mitigate 
the  brutalities  of  his  task;  fruitlessly  does  he  endeavor 
to  do  good  amid  the  bloodshed  which  issues  from  his 
orders.  He  is  aware  that  "there  are  gradations  in  crime, 
but  every  one  of  these  gradations  remains  a  crime." 


A  DAY  WILL  COME 


121 


Other  notable  figures  in  the  play  are:  the  cynic,  whose 
only  aim  is  the  profit  of  his  own  country;  the  army 
sportsman;  those  who  blindly  obey;  the  sentimentalist, 
who  shuts  his  eyes  to  all  that  is  painful,  contemplating 
as  a  puppet-show  what  is  tragedy  to  those  who  have  to 
endure  it.  The  background  to  these  figures  is  the  lying 
spirit  of  contemporary  civilization,  with  its  neat  phrases 
to  justify  every  outrage,  and  its  factories  built  upon 
tombs.  To  our  civilization  applies  the  charge  inscribed 
upon  the  opening  page,  raising  the  drama  into  the  sphere 
of  universal  humanity:  "This  play  has  not  been  writ- 
ten to  condemn  a  single  nation,  but  to  condemn  Eu- 
rope." 

The  true  hero  of  the  piece  is  not  General  Clifford, 
the  conqueror  of  South  Africa,  but  the  free  spirit,  as 
typified  in  the  Italian  volunteer,  a  citizen  of  the  world 
who  tlirew  himself  into  the  fray  that  he  might  defend 
freedom,  and  in  the  Scottish  peasant  who  lays  aside  his 
rifle  with  the  words,  "I  will  kill  no  longer."  These  men 
have  no  other  fatherland  than  conscience,  no  other  home 
than  their  own  humanity.  The  only  fate  they  acknowl- 
edge is  that  which  the  free  man  creates  for  himself. 
Holland  is  with  them,  the  vanquished,  as  he  is  ever  with 
those  who  voluntarily  accept  defeat.  It  is  from  his  soul 
that  rises'the  cry  of  the  Italian  volunteer,  "Ma  patrie  est 
partout  oil  la  liberte  est  menacee."  Aert,  Saint  Louis, 
Hugot,  the  Girondists,  Teulier,  the  martyrs  in  Les  loups, 
are  the  author's  spiritual  brethren,  the  children  of  his 
belief  that  the  individual's  will  is  stronger  than  his  secu- 


he 


crj     // 


122  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

lar  environment.  This  faith  grows  ever  greater,  takes 
on  an  ever  wider  oscillation,  as  the  years  pass.  In  his 
first  plays  he  was  still  speaking  to  France.  His  last 
work  written  for  the  stage  addresses  a  wider  audience; 
it  is  his  confession  of  world  citizenship. 


«# 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    PLAYWRIGHT 

WE  have  seen  that  Rolland's  plays  form  a 
whole,  which  for  comprehensiveness  may 
be  compared  with  the  work  of  Shakespeare, 
Schiller,  or  Hebbel.  Recent  stage  performances  in  Ger- 
many have  shown  that  in  places,  at  least,  they  possess 
great  dramatic  force.  The  historical  fact  that  work  of 
such  magnitude  and  power  should  remain  for  twenty 
years  practically  unknown,  must  have  some  deeper  cause 
than  chance.  The  effect  of  a  literary  composition  is 
always  in  large  part  dependent  upon  the  atmosphere  of 
the  time.  Sometimes  this  atmosphere  may  so  operate 
as  to  make  it  seem  that  a  spark  has  fallen  into  a  powder- 
barrel  heaped  full  of  accumulated  sensibilities.  Some- 
times the  influence  of  the  atmosphere  may  be  repressive 
in  manifold  ways.  A  work,  therefore,  taken  alone,  can 
never  reflect  an  epoch.  Such  reflection  can  only  be 
secured  when  the  work  is  harmonious  to  the  epoch  in 
which  it  originates. 

We  infer  that  the  innermost  essence  of  Rolland's  plays 
must  in  one  way  or  another  have  conflicted  with  the  age 
in  which  they  were  written.  In  actual  fact,  these  dramas 
were  penned  in  deliberate  opposition  to  the  dominant 

123 


124  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

/literary  mode.  Naturalism,  the  representation  of  real- 
ity, simultaneously  mastered  and  oppressed  the  time, 
leading  back  with  intent  into  the  narrows,  the  trivialities, 
of  everyday  life.  RoUand,  on  the  other  hand,  aspired 
towards  greatness,  wishing  to  raise  the  dynamic  of  un- 
dying ideals  high  above  the  transiencies  of  fact;  he 
aimed  at  a  soaring  flight,  at  a  winged  freedom  of  senti- 

1  ment,  at  exuberant  energy;  he  was  a  romanticist  and  an 
idealist.  Not  for  him  to  describe  the  forces  of  life,  its 
distresses,  its  powers,  and  its  passions;  his  purpose  was 
ever  to  depict  the  spirit  that  overcomes  these  things; 
the  idea  through  which  to-day  is  merged  into  eternity. 
Whilst  other  writers  were  endeavoring  to  portray  every- 
day occurrences  with  the  utmost  fidelity,  his  aim  was  to 
represent  the  rare,  the  sublime,  the  heroic,  the  seeds  of 

'  eternity  that  fall  from  heaven  to  germinate  on  earth.  He 
was  not  allured  by  life  as  it  is,  but  by  life  freely  inter- 
penetrated with  spirit  and  with  will. 

All  his  dramas,  therefore,  are  problem  plays,  wherein 
the  characters  are  but  the  expression  of  theses  and  anti- 
theses in  dialectical  struggle.  The  idea,  not  the  living 
figure,  is  the  primary  thing.  When  the  persons  of  the 
drama  are  in  conflict,  above  them,  like  the  gods  in  the 
Iliad,  hover  unseen  the  ideas  that  lead  the  human  pro- 
tagonists, the  ideas  between  which  the  struggle  is  really 
waged.  Rolland's  heroes  are  not  impelled  to  action  by 
the  force  of  circumstances,  but  are  lured  to  action  by 
the  fascination  of  their  own  thoughts;  the  circumstances 
are  merely  the  friction-surfaces  upon  which  their  ardor 
is  struck  into  flame.     When  to  the  eye  of  the  realist 


THE  PLAYWRIGHT  125 

they  are  vanquished,  when  Aert  plunges  into  death,  when 
Saint  Louis  is  consumed  by  fever,  when  the  heroes  of 
the  Revolution  stride  to  tlie  guillotine,  when  Clifford  and 
Owen  fall  victims  to  violence,  the  tragedy  of  their  mor- 
tal lives  is  transfigured  by  the  heroism  of  their  martyr- 
dom, by  the  unity  and  purity  of  realized  ideals. 

Rolland  has  openly  proclaimed  the  name  of  the  intel- 
lectual father  of  his  tragedies.  Shakespeare  was  no 
more  than  the  burning  bush,  the  first  herald,  the  stimulus, 
the  inimitable  model.  To  Shakespeare,  Rolland  owes 
his  impetus,  his  ardor,  and  in  part  his  dialectical  power. 
But  as  far  as  spiritual  form  is  concerned,  he  has  picked 
up  the  mantle  of  another  master,  one  whose  work  as 
dramatist  still  remains  almost  unknown.  I  refer  to 
Ernest  Renan,  and  to  the  Drames  philosophiques,  among 
which  Uabbesse  de  Jouarre  and  Le  pretre  de  Nemi  exer- 
cised a  decisive  influence  upon  the  younger  playwright. 
The  art  of  discussing  spiritual  problems  in  actual  drama 
instead  of  in  essays  or  in  such  dialogues  as  those  of 
Plato,  was  a  legacy  from  Renan,  who  gave  kindly  help 
and  instruction  to  the  aspiring  student.  From  Renan, 
too,  came  the  inner  calm  of  justice,  together  with  the 
clarity  which  never  failed  to  lift  the  writer  above  the  con- 
flicts he  was  describing.  But  whereas  the  sage  of  Tre- 
guier,  in  his  serene  aloofness,  regarded  all  human  activi- 
ties as  a  perpetually  renewed  illusion,  so  that  his  works 
voiced  a  somewhat  ironical  and  even  malicious  skepti- 
cism, in  Rolland  we  find  a  new  element,  the  flame  of  an 
idealism  that  is  still  undimmed  to-day.  Strange  indeed 
is  the  paradox,  that  one  who  of  all  modern  writers  is  the 


126  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

most  fervent  in  his  faith,  should  borrow  the  artistic  forms 
he  employs  from  the  master  of  cautious  doubt.  Hence 
what  in  Renan  had  a  retarding  and  cooling  influence, 
becomes  in  Rolland  a  cause  of  vigorous  and  enthusiastic 
action.  Whilst  Renan  stripped  all  the  legends,  even  the 
most  sacred  of  legends,  bare,  in  his  search  for  a  wise  but 
tepid  truth,  Rolland  is  led  by  his  revolutionary  tempera- 
ment to  create  a  new  legend,  a  new  heroism,  a  new  emo- 
tional spur  to  action. 

This  ideological  scaffolding  is  unmistakable  in  every 
one  of  Rolland's  dramas.  The  scenic  variations,  the 
motley  changes  in  the  cultural  environments,  cannot  pre- 
vent our  realizing  that  the  problems  revealed  to  our  eyes 
emanate,  not  from  feelings  and  not  from  personalities, 
[  but  from  intelligences  and  from  ideas.  Even  the  his- 
^  torical  figures,  those  of  Robespierre,  Danton,  Saint- Just, 
and  Desmoulins,  are  schemata  rather  than  portraits. 
Nevertheless,  the  prolonged  estrangement  between  his 
dramas  and  the  age  in  which  they  were  written,  was  not 
so  much  due  to  the  playwright's  method  of  treatment  as 
to  the  nature  of  the  problems  with  which  he  chose  to 
deal.  Ibsen,  who  at  that  time  dominated  the  drama,  like- 
wise wrote  plays  with  a  purpose.  Ibsen,  far  more  even 
than  Rolland,  had  definite  ends  in  view.  Like  Strind- 
berg,  Ibsen  did  not  merely  wish  to  present  comparisons 
between  elemental  forces,  but  in  addition  to  present  their 
formulation.  These  northern  writers  intellectualized 
much  more  than  Rolland,  inasmuch  as  they  were  propa- 
gandists, whereas  Rolland  merely  endeavored  to  show 
ideas  in  the  act  of  unfolding  their  own  contradictions. 


THE  PLAYWRIGHT 


127 


Ibsen  and  Strindberg  desired  to  make  converts;  Holland's 
aim  was  to  display  the  inner  energy  that  animates  every 
idea.  Whilst  the  northerners  hoped  to  produce  a  spe- 
cific effect,  Holland  was  in  search  of  a  general  effect,  the 
arousing  of  enthusiasm.  For  Ibsen,  as  for  the  contem- 
porary French  dramatists,  the  conflict  between  man  and 
woman  living  in  the  bourgeois  environment  always  oc- 
cupies the  center  of  the  stage.  Strindberg's  work  is  ani- 
mated by  the  myth  of  sexual  polarity.  The  lie  against 
which  both  these  writers  are  campaigning  is  a  conven- 
tional, a  social,  lie.  The  dramatic  interest  remains  the 
same.  The  spiritual  arena  is  still  that  of  bourgeois  life. 
This  applies  even  to  the  mathematical  sobriety  of  Ibsen 
and  to  the  remorseless  analysis  of  Strindberg.  Despite 
the  vituperation  of  the  critics,  the  world  of  Ibsen  and 
Strindberg  was  still  the  critics'  world. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  problems  with  which  Holland's 
plays  were  concerned  could  never  awaken  the  interest  of 
a  bourgeois  public,  for  they  were  political,  ideal,  heroic, 
revolutionary  problems.  The  surge  of  his  more  compre- 
hensive feelings  engulfed  the  lesser  tensions  of  sex. 
Holland's  dramas  leave  the  erotic  problem  untouched, 
and  this  damns  them  for  a  modern  audience.  He  pre- 
sents a  new  type,  political  drama  in  the  sense  phrased  by 
Napoleon,  conversing  with  Goethe  at  Erfurt.  "La 
politique,  voila  la  fatalite  modeme."  The  tragic  drama- 
tist always  displays  human  beings  in  conflict  with  forces. 
Man  becomes  great  through  his  resistance  to  these  forces. 
In  Greek  tragedy  the  powers  of  fate  assumed  mythical 
forms :  the  wrath  of  the  gods,  the  disfavor  of  evil  spirits, 


u  '^ 


^ 


128  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

disastrous  oracles.     We  see  this  in  the  figures  of  Oedi- 
/    pus,  Prometheus,  and  Philoctetes.     For  us  modems,  it 
is  the  overwhelming  power  of  the  state,  organized  politi- 
cal force,  massed  destiny,  against  which  as  individuals 
we  stand  weaponless;  it  is  the  great  spiritual  storms,  "les 
J^  ^        courants  de  foi,"  which  inexorably  sweep  us  away  like 
.■■^   ^  straws  before  the  wind.     No  less  incalculably  than  did 

y  the  fabled  gods  of  antiquity,  no  less  overwhelmingly  and 

pitilessly,  does  the  world-destiny  make  us  its  sport.  War 
is  the  most  powerful  of  these  mass  influences,  and,  for 
this  reason,  nearly  all  Holland's  plays  take  war  as  their 
.  theme.  Their  moral  force  consists  in  the  way  wherein 
again  and  again  they  show  how  the  individual,  a  Prome- 
theus in  conflict  with  the  gods,  is  able  in  the  spiritual 
sphere  to  break  the  unseen  yoke;  how  the  individual 
idea  remains  stronger  than  the  mass  idea,  the  idea  of  the 
fatherland — though  the  latter  can  still  destroy  a  hardy 
rebel  with  the  thunderbolts  of  Jupiter. 

The  Greeks  first  knew  the  gods  when  the  gods  were 
angry.  Our  gloomy  divinity,  the  fatherland,  blood- 
thirsty as  the  gods  of  old,  first  becomes  fully  known  to 
us  in  time  of  war.  Unless  fate  lowers,  man  rarely  thinks 
of  these  hostile  forces;  he  despises  them  or  forgets  them, 
while  they  lurk  in  the  darkness,  awaiting  the  advent  of 
their  day.  A  peaceful,  a  laodicean  era  had  no  interest 
in  tragedies  foreshadowing  the  opposition  of  the  forces 
which  were  twenty  years  later  to  engage  in  deadly  strug- 
gle in  the  bloodstained  European  arena.  What  should 
those  care  who  strayed  into  the  theater  from  the  Parisian 
boulevards,  members  of  an  audience  skilled  in  the  geom- 


THE  PLAYWRIGHT  129 

etry  of  adultery,  what  should  they  care  about  such  prob- 
lems as  those  in  Rolland's  plays:  whether  it  is  better  to 
serve  the  fatherland  or  to  serve  justice;  whether  in  war 
time  soldiers  must  obey  orders  or  follow  the  call  of 
conscience?  The  questions  seemed  at  best  but  idle 
trifling,  remote  from  reality,  charades,  the  untimely 
musings  of  a  cloistered  moralist;  problems  in  the  fourth 
dimension.  "What's  Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba?" 
— though  in  truth  it  would  have  been  well  to  heed  Cas- 
sandra's warning.  The  tragedy  and  the  greatness  of 
Rolland's  plays  lies  in  this,  that  they  came  a  generation 
before  their  day.  They  seem  to  have  been  written  for 
the  time  we  have  just  had  to  live  through.  They  seem 
to  foretell  in  lofty  symbols  the  spiritual  content  of  to- 
day's political  happenings.  The  outburst  of  a  revolu- 
tion, the  concentration  of  its  energies  into  individual 
personalities,  the  decline  of  passion  into  brutality  and 
into  suicidal  chaos,  as  typified  in  the  figures  of  Kerensky, 
Lenin,  Liebknecht,  is  the  anticipatory  theme  of  Rol- 
land's plays.  The  anguish  of  Aert,  the  struggles  of  the 
Girondists  who  had  likewise  to  defend  themselves  upon 
two  fronts,  against  the  brutality  of  war  and  against  the 
brutality  of  the  Revolution — have  we  not  all  of  late  v\^ 
realized  these  things  with  the  vividness  of  personal  expe- 
rience? Since  1914,  what  question  has  been  more  press- 
ing than  that  of  the  conflict  between  the  free-spirited 
internationalist  and  the  mass  frenzy  of  his  fellow  coun- 
trymen? Where,  during  recent  decades,  has  there  been 
produced  any  other  drama  which  can  present  these  soul- 
Searching  problems  so  vividly  and  with  so  much  human 


130  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

understanding  as  do  the  tragedies  which  lay  for  years 
in  obscurity,  and  were  then  overshadowed  by  the  fame 
of  their  late-bom  brother,  Jean  Christophe?  These 
dramas,  parerga  as  it  seemed,  were  aimed,  in  an  hour 
when  peace  still  ruled  the  world,  at  the  center  of  our 
contemporary  consciousness,  which  was  then  still  un- 
woven by  the  looms  of  time.  The  stone  which  the  build- 
ers of  the  stage  contemptuously  rejected,  will  perhaps 
become  the  foundation  of  a  new  theater,  grandly  con- 
ceived, contemporary  and  yet  heroical,  the  theater  of  the 
free  European  brotherhood,  for  whose  sake  it  was  fash- 
ioned in  solitude  decades  ago  by  the  lonely  creator. 


PART  THREE 
THE  HEROIC  BIOGRAPHIES 


I  prepare  myself  by  the  study  of 
history  and  the  practice  of  writing. 
So  doing,  I  welcome  always  in  my 
soul  the  memory  of  the  best  and  most 
renowned  of  men.  For  whenever  the 
enforced  associations  of  daily  life 
arouse  worthless,  evil,  or  ignoble 
feelings,  I  am  able  to  repel  these 
feelings  and  to  keep  them  at  a  dis- 
tance, by  dispassionately  turning  my 
thoughts  to  contemplate  the  brightest 
examples, 

Plutarch,  Preamble  to  the  Life 
of  Timoleon. 


CHAPTER  I 

DE    PROFUNDIS 

AT  twenty  years  of  age,  and  again  at  thirty  years 
of  age,  in  his  early  works,  Rolland  had  wished 
to  depict  enthusiasm  as  the  highest  power  of 
the  individual  and  as  the  creative  soul  of  an  entire  peo- 
ple. For  him,  that  man  alone  is  truly  alive  whose 
spirit  is  consumed  with  longing  for  the  ideal,  that  nation 
alone  is  inspired  which  collects  its  forces  in  an  ardent 
faith.  The  dream  of  his  youth  was  to  arouse  a  weary 
and  vanquished  generation,  infirm  of  will;  to  stimulate 
its  faidi;  to  bring  salvation  to  the  world  through  en- 
thusiasm. 

Vain  had  been  the  attempt.  Ten  years,  fifteen  years 
— how  easily  the  phrase  is  spoken,  but  how  long  the 
time  may  seem  to  a  sad  heart — had  been  spent  in  fruit- 
less endeavor.  Disillusionment  had  followed  upon  dis- 
illusionment. Le  theatre  du  peuple  had  come  to  noth- 
ing; the  Dreyfus  affair  had  been  merged  in  political  in- 
trigue; the  dramas  were  waste  paper.  There  had  been 
no  stir  in  response  to  his  efforts.  His  friends  were  scat- 
tered. Whilst  the  companions  of  his  youth  had  al- 
ready attained  to  fame,  Rolland  was  still  the  beginner. 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  the  more  he  did,  the  more  his 
work  was  ignored.     None  of  his  aims  had  been  fulfilled. 

133 


134  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Public  life  was  lukewarm  and  torpid  as  of  old.  The 
world  was  in  search  of  profit  instead  of  faith  and  spirit- 
ual force. 

His  private  life  likewise  lay  in  ruins.  His  marriage, 
entered  into  with  high  hopes,  was  one  more  disappoint- 
ment. During  these  years  Rolland  had  individual  expe- 
rience of  a  tragedy  whose  cruelty  his  work  leaves  un- 
noticed, for  his  writings  never  touch  upon  the  narrower 
troubles  of  his  own  life.  Wounded  to  the  heart,  ship- 
wrecked in  all  his  undertakings,  he  withdrew  into  soli- 
tude. His  workroom,  small  and  simple  as  a  monastic 
cell,  became  his  world;  work  his  consolation.  He  had 
now  to  fight  the  hardest  fight  on  behalf  of  the  faith  of 
his  youth,  that  he  might  not  lose  it  in  the  darkness  of 
despair. 

In  his  solitude  he  read  the  literature  of  the  day.  And 
since  in  all  voices  man  hears  the  echo  of  his  own,  Rol- 
land found  everywhere  pain  and  loneliness.  He  studied 
the  lives  of  the  artists,  and  having  done  so  he  wrote: 
"The  further  we  penetrate  into  the  existence  of  great 
creators,  the  more  strongly  are  we  impressed  by  the 
magnitude  of  the  unhappiness  by  which  their  lives  were 
enveloped.  I  do  not  merely  mean  that,  being  subject 
to  the  ordinary  trials  and  disappointments  of  mankind, 
their  higher  emotional  susceptibility  rendered  these 
smarts  exceptionally  keen.  I  mean  that  their  genius, 
placing  them  in  advance  of  their  contemporaries  by 
twenty,  thirty,  fifty,  nay  often  a  hundred  years,  and 
thus  making  of  them  wanderers  in  the  desert,  condemned 
them  to  the  most  desperate  exertions  if  they  were  but  to 


DE  PROFUNDIS  135 

live,  to  say  nothing  of  winning  to  victory."  Thus  these 
great  ones  among  mankind,  those  towards  whom  posterity 
looks  back  with  veneration,  those  who  will  for  all  time 
bring  consolation  to  the  lonely  in  spirit,  were  themselves 
"pauvres  vaincus,  les  vainqueurs  du  monde" — the  con- 
querors of  the  world,  but  themselves  beaten  in  the  fray. 
An  endless  chain  of  perpetually  repeated  and  unmeaning 
torments  binds  their  successive  destinies  into  a  tragical 
unity.  "Never,"  as  Tolstoi  pointed  out  in  the  oft-men- 
tioned letter,  "do  true  artists  share  the  common  man's 
power  of  contented  enjoyment."  The  greater  their  na- 
tures, the  greater  their  suffering.  And  conversely,  the 
greater  their  suffering  the  fuller  the  development  of 
their  own  greatness. 

Holland  thus  recognizes  that  there  is  another  great- 
ness, a  profounder  greatness,  than  that  of  action,  the 
/  greatness  of  suffering.  Unthinkable  would  be  a  Holland 
who  did  not  draw  fresh  faith  from  all  experience,  how- 
ever painful;  unthinkable  one  who  failed,  in  his  own 
suffering,  to  be  mindful  of  the  sufferings  of  others.  As 
a  sufferer,  he  extends  a  greeting  to  all  sufferers  on 
earth.  Instead  of  a  fellowship  of  enthusiasm,  he  now 
looks  for  a  brotherhood  of  the  lonely  ones  of  the  world, 
as  he  shows  them  the  meaning  and  the  grandeur  of  all 
sorrow.  In  this  new  circle,  the  nethermost  of  fate,  he 
turns  to  noble  examples.  "Life  is  hard.  It  is  a  con- 
tinuous struggle  for  all  those  who  cannot  come  to  terms 
with  mediocrity.  For  the  most  part  it  is  a  painful  strug- 
gle, lacking  sublimity,  lacking  happiness,  fought  in 
solitude  and  silence.     Oppressed  by  poverty,  by  domes- 


V 


136  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

tic  cares,  by  crushing  and  gloomy  tasks  demanding  an 
aimless  expenditure  of  energy,  joyless   and  hopeless, 
most  people  work  in  isolation,  without  even  the  comfort 
of  being  able  to  stretch  forth  a  hand  to  their  brothers  in 
misfortune."     To  build  these  bridges  between  man  and 
man,  between  suffering  and  suffering,  is  now  Rolland's 
task.     To  the  nameless  sufferers,  he  wishes  to  show  those 
in  whom  personal  sorrow  was  transmuted  to  become  gain 
for  millions  yet  to  come.     He  would,  as  Carlyle  phrased 
it,  "make  manifest  .  .  .  the  divine  relation  .  .  .  which 
at  all  times  unites  a  Great  Man  to  other  men."     The 
million  solitaries  have  a  fellowship;  it  is  that  of  the 
great  martyrs  of  suffering,  those  who,  though  stretched 
on  the  rack  of  destiny,  never  foreswore  their  faith  in 
life,  those  whose  very  sufferings  helped  to  make  life 
richer  for  others.     "Let  them  not  complain  too  piteously,   , 
the  unhappy  ones,  for  the  best  of  men  share  their  lot.     It  / 
is  for  us  to  grow  strong  with  their  strength.     If  we  feel    ^ 
our  weakness,  let  us  rest  on  their  knees.     They  will  give 
solace.     From  their  spirits  radiate  energy  and  good- 
ness.    Even  if  we  did  not  study  their  works,  even  if  we  7 
did  not  hearken  to  their  voices,  from  the  light  of  their  i 
countenances,  from  the  fact  that  they  have  lived,  we  \ 
should  know  that  life  is  never  greater,  never  more  fruit- / 
ful — never  happier — than  in  suffering." 

It  was  in  this  spirit,  for  his  own  good,  and  for  the 
consolation  of  his  unknown  brothers  in  sorrow,  that  Rol- 
land  undertook  the  composition  of  the  heroic  biographies. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   HEROES   OF   SUFFERING 

LIKE  the  revolutionary  dramas,  the  new  creative 
cycle  was  preluded  by  a  manifesto,  a  new  call 
to  greatness.  The  preface  to  Beethoven  pro- 
claims: "The  air  is  fetid.  Old  Europe  is  suffocating 
in  a  sultry  and  unclean  atmosphere.  Our  thoughts  are 
weighed  down  by  a  petty  materialism.  .  .  .  The  world 
sickens  in  a  cunning  and  cowardly  egoism.  We  are 
stifling.  Throw  the  windows  wide;  let  in  the  free  air 
of  heaven.  We  must  breathe  the  souls  of  the  heroes." 
What  does  RoUand  mean  by  a  hero?  He  does  not 
think  of  those  who  lead  the  masses,  wage  victorious 
wars,  kindle  revolutions;  he  does  not  refer  to  men  of  j  t^^^ 
action,  or  to  those  whose  thoughts  engender  action. 
The  nullity  of  united  action  has  become  plain  to  him. 
Unconsciously  in  his  dramas  he  has  depicted  the  tragedy 
of  the  idea  as  something  which  cannot  be  divided  among 
men  like  bread,  as  something  which  in  each  individual's 
brain  and  blood  undergoes  prompt  transformation  into 
a  new  form,  often  into  its  very  opposite.  True  great- 
ness is  for  him  to  be  found  only  in  solitude,  in  struggle 
waged  by  the  individual  against  the  unseen.  "I  do 
not  give  the  name  of  heroes  to  those  who  have  triumphed, 

137 


138  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

whether  by  ideas  or  by  physical  force.  By  heroes  I 
mean  those  who  were  great  through  the  power  of  the 
heart.  As  one  of  the  greatest  (Tolstoi)  has  said,  'I 
recognize  no  other  sign  of  superiority  than  goodness. 
Where  the  character  is  not  great,  there  is  neither  a  great 
artist  nor  a  great  man  of  action;  there  is  nothing  but 
one  of  the  idols  of  the  crowd ;  time  will  shatter  them  to- 
gether. .  .  .  What  matters,  is  to  be  great,  not  to  seem 
great.' " 

A  hero  does  not  fight  for  the  petty  achievements  of 
life,  for  success,  for  an  idea  in  which  all  can  partici- 
pate; he  fights  for  the  whole,  for  life  itself.  Whoever 
turns  his  back  on  the  struggle  because  he  dreads  to  be 
alone,  is  a  weakling  who  shrinks  from  suffering;  he  is 
one  who  with  a  mask  of  artificial  beauty  would  conceal 
from  himself  the  tragedy  of  mortal  life;  he  is  a  liar. 
True  heroism  is  that  which  faces  realities.  Rolland 
fiercely  exclaims:  "I  loathe  the  cowardly  idealism  of 
those  who  refuse  to  see  the  tragedies  of  life  and  the 
weaknesses  of  the  soul.  To  a  nation  that  is  prone  to 
the  deceitful  illusions  of  resounding  words,  to  such  a 
nation  above  all,  is  it  necessary  to  say  that  the  heroic 
falsehood  is  a  form  of  cowardice.  There  is  but  one 
heroism  on  earth — to  know  life  and  yet  to  love  it." 

Suffering  is  not  the  great  man's  goal.  But  it  is  his 
ordeal;  the  needful  filter  to  effect  purification;  "the 
swiftest  beast  of  burden  bearing  us  towards  perfection," 
as  Meister  Eckhart  said.  "In  suffering  alone  do  we 
rightly  understand  art;  through  sorrow  alone  do  we 
learn  those  things  which  outlast  the  centuries,  and  are 


THE  HEROES  OF  SUFFERING  139 

stronger  than  death."  Thus  for  the  great  man,  the 
painful  experiences  of  life  are  transmuted  into  knowl- 
edge, and  this  knowledge  is  further  transmuted  into  the 
power  of  love.  Suffering  does  not  suffice  by  itself  to 
produce  greatness;  we  need  to  h^e  achieved  a  triumph 
over  suffering^  He^who  is  broken  by  the  distresses  of 
life,  and  still  more  he  who  shirks  the  troubles  of  life,  is 
stamped  with  the  imprint  of  defeat,  and  even  his  noblest 
work  will  bear  the  marks  of  this  overthrow.  None  but 
he  who  rises  from  the  depths,  can  bring  a  message  to  the 
heights  of  the  spirit;  paradise  must  be  reached  by  a  path 
that  leads  through  purgatory.  Each  must  discover  this 
path  for  himself;  but  the  one  who  strides  along  it  with 
head  erect  is  a  leader,  and  can  lift  others  into  his  own 
world.  "Great  souls  are  like  mountain  peaks.  Storms 
lash  them;  clouds  envelop  them;  but  on  the  peaks  we 
breathe  more  freely  than  elsewhere.  In  that  pure  at- 
mosphere, the  wounds  of  the  heart  are  cleansed;  and 
when  the  cloudbanks  part,  we  gain  a  view  of  all  man- 
kind." 

To  such  lofty  outlooks  RoUand  wishes  to  lead  the 
sufferers  who  are  still  in  the  darkness  of  torment.  He 
desires  to  show  them  the  heights  where  suffering  grows 
one  with  nature  and  where  struggle  becomes  heroic. 
"Sursum  corda,"  he  sings,  chanting  a  song  of  praise  as 
he  reveals  the  sublime  pictures  of  creative  sorrow. 


CHAPTER  III 

BEETHOVEN 

BEETHOVEN,  the  master  of  masters,  is  the  first 
figure  sculptured  on  the  heroic  frieze  of  the  in- 
visible temple.  From  Rolland's  earliest  years, 
since  his  beloved  mother  had  initiated  him  into  the  magic 
world  of  music,  Beethoven  had  been  his  teacher,  had 
been  at  once  his  monitor  and  consoler.  Though  fickle 
to  other  childish  loves,  to  this  love  he  had  ever  re- 
mained faithful.  "During  the  crises  of  doubt  and  de- 
pression which  I  experienced  in  youth,  one  of  Beetho- 
ven's melodies,  one  which  still  runs  in  my  head,  would 
reawaken  in  me  the  spark  of  eternal  life."  By  degrees 
the  admiring  pupil  came  to  feel  a  desire  for  closer  ac- 
quaintance with  the  earthly  existence  of  the  object  of 
his  veneration.  Journeying  to  Vienna,  he  saw  there  the 
room  in  the  House  of  the  Black  Spaniard,  since  demol- 
ished, where  the  great  musician  passed  away  during  a 
storm.  At  Mainz,  in  1901,  he  attended  the  Beethoven 
festival.  In  Bonn  he  saw  the  garret  in  which  the  mes- 
siah  of  the  language  without  words  was  bom.  It  was  a 
shock  to  him  to  find  in  what  narrow  straits  this  universal 
genius  had  passed  his  days.  He  perused  letters  and 
other  documents  conveying  the  cruel  history  of  Bee- 

140 


BEETHOVEN  141 

thoven's  daily  life,  the  life  from  which  the  musician, 
stricken  with  deafness,  took  refuge  in  the  music  of  the 
inner,  the  imperishable  universe.  Shudderingly  Hol- 
land came  to  realize  the  greatness  of  this  "tragic  Diony- 
sus," cribbed  in  our  somber  and  unfeeling  world. 

After  the  visit  to  Bonn,  Holland  wrote  an  article  for 
the  "Revue  de  Paris,"  entitled  Les  fetes  de  Beethoven. 
His  muse,  however,  desired  to  sing  without  restraint, 
freed  from  the  trammels  imposed  by  critical  contempla- 
tion. Holland  wished,  not  once  again  to  expound  the 
musician  to  musicians,  but  to  reveal  the  hero  to  hu- 
manity at  large;  not  to  recount  the  pleasure  experienced 
on  hearing  Beethoven's  music,  but  to  give  utterance  to 
the  poignancy  of  his  own  feelings.  He  desired  to  show 
forth  Beethoven  the  hero,  as  the  man  who,  after  infinite 
suffering,  composed  the  greatest  hymn  of  mankind,  the 
divine  exultation  of  the  Ninth  Symphony. 

"Beloved  Beethoven,"  thus  the  enthusiast  opens. 
"Enough  .  .  .  many  have  extolled  his  greatness  as  an 
artist,  but  he  is  far  more  than  the  first  of  all  musicians. 
He  is  the  heroic  energy  of  modem  art,  the  greatest  and 
best  friend  of  all  who  suffer  and  struggle.  When  we 
mourn  over  the  sorrows  of  the  world,  he  comes  to  our 
solace.  It  is  as  if  he  seated  himself  at  the  piano  in 
the  room  of  a  bereaved  mother,  comforting  her  with  the 
wordless  song  of  resignation.  When  we  are  wearied  by 
the  unending  and  fruitless  struggle  against  mediocrity  in 
vice  and  in  virtue,  what  an  unspeakable  delight  is  it  to 
plunge  once  more  into  this  ocean  of  will  and  faith.  He 
radiates  the  contagion  of  courage,  the  joy  of  combat. 


142  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

the  intoxication  of  spirit  whicli  God  himself  feels.  .  .  . 
What  victory  is  comparable  to  this?  What  conquest  of 
Napoleon's?  What  sun  of  Austerlitz  can  compare  in 
refulgence  with  this  superhuman  effort,  this  triumph  of 
^he  spirit,  achieved  by  a  poor  and  unhappy  man,  by  a 
lonely  invalid,  by  one  who,  though  he  was  sorrow  in- 
carnate, though  life  denied  him  joy,  was  able  to  create 
joy  that  he  might  bestow  it  on  the  world.  As  he  himself 
proudly  phrases  it,  he  forges  joy  out  of  his  own  misfor- 
tunes. .  .  .  The  device  of  every  heroic  soul  must  be: 
Out  of  suffering  cometh  joy." 

Thus  does  RoUand  apostrophize  the  unknown. 
Finally  he  lets  the  master  speak  from  his  own  life.  He 
opens  the  Heiligenstadt  "Testament,"  in  which  the  re- 
tiring man  confided  to  posterity  the  profound  grief  which 
he  concealed  from  his  contemporaries.  He  recounts  the 
confession  of  faith  of  the  sublime  pagan.  He  quotes 
letters  showing  the  kindliness  which  the  great  musician 
vainly  endeavored  to  hide  behind  an  assumed  acerbity. 
Never  before  had  the  universal  humanity  in  Beethoven 
been  brought  so  near  to  the  sight  of  our  generation, 
never  before  had  the  heroism  of  this  lonely  life  been 
so  magnificently  displayed  for  the  encouragement  of 
countless  observers,  as  in  this  little  book,  with  its  ap- 
peal to  enthusiasm,  the  greatest  and  most  neglected  of 
,  human  qualities. 

The  brethren  of  sorrow  to  whom  the  message  was  ad- 
dressed, scattered  here  and  there  throughout  the  world, 
gave  ear  to  the  call.  The  book  was  not  a  literary  tri- 
umph; the  newspapers  were  silent;  the  critics  ignored 


Romain  Rolland  at  the  time  of  writing  Beethoven 


BEETHOVEN  143 

it.  But  unknown  strangers  won  happiness  from  its 
pages;  they  passed  it  from  hand  to  hand;  a  mystical 
sense  of  gratitude  for  the  first  time  formed  a  bond  of 
union  among  persons  reverencing  the  name  of  Holland. 
The  unhappy  have  an  ear  delicately  attuned  to  the  notes 
of  consolation.  While  they  would  have  been  repelled 
by  a  superficial  optimism,  they  were  receptive  to  the 
passionate  sympathy  which  they  found  in  the  pages  of 
Rolland's  Beethoven.  The  book  did  not  bring  its  author 
success;  but  it  brought  something  better,  a  public  which 
henceforward  paid  close  attention  to  his  work,  and  ac- 
companied Jean  Christophe  in  the  first  steps  toward  cel- 
ebrity. Simultaneously,  there  was  an  improvement  in 
the  fortunes  of  "Les  cahiers  de  la  quinzaine."  The  ob- 
scure periodical  began  to  circulate  more  freely.  For 
the  first  time,  a  second  edition  was  called  for.  Charles 
Peguy  describes  in  moving  terms  how  the  reissue  of  this 
number  solaced  the  last  hours  of  Bernard  Lazare.  At 
length  Romain  Rolland's  idealism  was  beginning  to 
come  into  its  own. 

Rolland  is  no  longer  lonely.  Unseen  brothers  touch 
his  hand  in  the  dark,  eagerly  await  the  sound  of  his 
voice.  Only  those  who  suffer,  wish  to  hear  of  suffering 
— but  sufferers  are  many.  To  them  he  now  wishes  to 
make  known  other  figures,  the  figures  of  those  who  suf- 
fered no  less  keenly,  and  were  no  less  great  in  their  con- 
quest of  suffering.  From  the  distance  of  the  centuries, 
the  mighty  contemplate  him.  Reverently  he  draws  near 
to  them  and  enters  into  their  lives. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MICHELANGELO 

BEETHOVEN  is  for  Rolland  the  most  typical  of 
the  controllers  of  sorrow.  Bom  to  enjoy  the 
fullness  of  life,  it  seemed  to  be  his  mission  to 
reveal  its  beauties.  Then  destiny,  ruining  the  sense- 
organ  of  music,  incarcerated  him  in  the  prison  of  deaf- 
ness. But  his  spirit  discovered  a  new  language;  in  the 
darkness  he  made  a  great  light,  composing  the  Ode  to 
Joy  whose  strains  he  was  unable  to  hear.  Bodily  af- 
fliction, however,  is  but  one  of  the  many  forms  of  suffer- 
ering  which  the  heroism  of  the  will  can  conquer.  "Suf- 
fering is  infinite,  and  displays  itself  in  myriad  ways. 
Sometimes  it  arises  from  the  blind  things  of  tyranny, 
coming  as  poverty,  sickness,  the  injustice  of  fate,  or  the 
wickedness  of  men;  sometimes  its  deepest  cause  lies  in 
i  i  the  sufferer's  own  nature.  This  is  no  less  lamentable, 
no  less  disastrous;  for  we  do  not  choose  our  own  dispo- 
sitions, we  have  not  asked  for  life  as  it  is  given  us,  we 
have  not  wished  to  become  what  we  are." 

Such  was  the  tragedy  of  Michelangelo.  His  trouble 
was  not  a  sudden  stroke  of  misfortune  in  the  flower  of  his 
days.  The  affliction  was  inborn.  From  the  first  dawn- 
ing of  his  consciousness,  the  worm  of  discontent  was 

144 


MICHELANGELO  145 

gnawing  at  his  heart,  the  worm  which  grew  with  his 
growth  throughout  the  eighty  years  of  his  life.  All  his 
feeling  was  tinged  with  melancholy.  Never  do  we  hear 
from  him,  as  we  so  often  hear  from  Beethoven,  the 
golden  call  of  joy.  But  his  greatness  lay  in  this,  that 
he  hore  his  sorrows  like  a  cross,  a  second  Christ  carry- 
ing the  burden  of  his  destiny  to  the  Golgotha  of  his 
daily  work,  eternally  weary  of  existence,  and  yet  not 
weary  of  activity.  Or  we  may  compare  him  with  Sisy- 
phus; but  whereas  Sisyphus  for  ever  rolled  the  stone,  it 
was  Michelangelo's  fate,  chiseling  in  rage  and  bitterness, 
to  fashion  the  patient  stone  into  works  of  art.  For 
Rolland,  Michelangelo  was  the  genius  of  a  great  and 
vanished  age ;  he  was  the  Christian,  unhappy  but  patient, 
whereas  Beethoven  was  the  pagan,  the  great  god  Pan 
in  the  forest  of  music.  Michelangelo  shares  the  blame 
for  his  own  suffering,  the  blame  that  attaches  to  weak- 
ness, the  blame  of  those  damned  souls  in  Dante's  first 
circle  "who  voluntarily  gave  themselves  up  to  sadness." 
We  must  show  him  compassion  as  a  man,  but  as  we  show 
compassion  to  one  mentally  diseased,  for  he  is  the  para- 
dox of.  "a  heroic  genius  with  an  unheroic  will."  Bee- 
thoven is  the  hero  as  artist,  and  still  more  the  hero  as 
man;  Michelangelo  is  only  the  hero  as  artist.  As  man, 
Michelangelo  is  the  vanquished,  unloved  because  he  does 
not  give  himself  up  to  love,  unsatisfied  because  he  has 
no  longing  for  joy.  He  is  the  saturnine  man,  bom  un- 
der a  gloomy  star,  one  who  does  not  struggle  against 
melancholy,  but  rather  cherishes  it,  toying  with  his  own 
.depression.     "La  mia  allegrezza  e  la  malincolia" — mel- 


146  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

ancholy  is  my  delight.  He  frankly  acknowledges  that 
"a  thousand  joys  are  not  worth  as  much  as  a  single 
sorrow."  From  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  life  he 
seems  to  be  hewing  his  way,  cutting  an  interminable 
dark  gallery  leading  towards  the  light.  This  way  is  his 
greatness,  leading  us  all  nearer  towards  eternity. 

Rolland  feels  that  Michelangelo's  life  embraces  a 
great  heroism,  but  cannot  give  direct  consolation  to  those 
who  suffer.  In  this  case,  the  one  who  lacks  is  not  able 
to  come  to  terms  with  destiny  by  his  own  strength,  for 
he  needs  a  mediator  beyond  this  life.  He  needs  God, 
"the  refuge  of  all  those  who  do  not  make  a  success  of 
life  here  below!  Faith  which  is  apt  to  be  nothing  other 
\^  /  than  lack  of  faith  in  life,  in  the  future,  in  oneself;  a 

lack  of  courage;  a  lack  of  joy.     We  know  upon  how 
many  defeats  this  painful  victory  is  upbuilded."     Rol- 
land here  admires  a  work,  and  a  sublime  melancholy; 
but  he  does  so  with  sorrowful  compassion,  and  not  with 
\j       the  intoxicating  ardor  inspired  in  him  by  the  triumph 
-«^        of  Beethoven.     Michelangelo  is  chosen  merely  as  an  ex- 
ample of  the  amount  of  pain  that  may  have  to  be  en- 
h"?  dured  in  our  mortal  lot.     His  example  displays  great- 

^  ness,  but  greatness  that  conveys  a  warning.     Who  con- 

quers pain  in  producing  such  work,  is  in  truth  a  victor. 
Yet  only  half  a  victor;  for  it  does  not  suffice  to  endure 
life.  We  must,  this  is  the  highest  heroism,  "know  life, 
and  yet  love  it." 


CHAPTER  V 

TOLSTOI 

THE  biographies  of  Beethoven  and  Michelangelo 
were  fashioned  out  of  the  superabundance  of 
life.  They  were  calls  to  heroism,  odes  to  en-  ► 
ergy.  The  biography  of  Tolstoi,  written  some  years 
later,  is  a  requiem,  a  dirge.  RoUand  had  been  near  to 
death  from  the  accident  in  the  Champs  Elysees.  On  his 
recovery,  the  news  of  his  beloved  master's  end  came  to 
him  with  profound  significance  and  as  a  sublime  exhorta-  J' 
tion. 

Tolstoi  typifies  for  Rolland  a  third  form  of  heroic 
suffering.     Beethoven's  infirmity  came  as  a  stroke  of 
fate  in  mid  career.     Michelangelo's  sad  destiny  was  in- 
born.    Tolstoi  deliberately  chose  his  own  lot.     All  the 
externals  of  happiness  promised  enjoyment.     He  was  in 
good  health,  rich,  independent,  famous;  he  had  home, 
wife,  and  children.     But  the  heroism  of  the  man  with- 
out cares  lies  in  this,  that  he  makes  cares  for  himself, 
through  doubt  as  to  the  best  way  to  live.     What  plagued   | 
Tolstoi  was  his  conscience,  his  inexorable  demand  for 
truth.     He  thrust  aside  the  freedom  from  care,  the  low  , 
aims,  the  petty  joys,  of  insincere  beings.     Like  a  fakir,  ' 
he  pierced  his  own  breast  with  the  thorns  of  doubt. 

147 


\^ 


148  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Amid  the  torment,  he  blessed  doubt,  saying:  "We  must 
thank  God  if  we  be  discontented  with  ourselves.  A 
cleavage  between  life  and  the  form  in  which  it  has  to  be 
lived,  is  the  genuine  sign  of  a  true  life,  the  precondition 
of  all  that  is  good.  The  only  bad  thing  is  to  be  con- 
tented with  oneself." 

For  Holland,  this  apparent  cleavage  is  the  true  Tolstoi, 
P^       just  as  for  Holland  the  man  who  struggles  is  the  only  man 
/)        truly  alive.     Whilst  Michelangelo  believes  himself  to 
p  see  a  divine  life  above  this  human  life,  Tolstoi  sees  a 

f  genuine  life  behind  the  casual  life  of  everyday,  and  to 

attain  to  the  former  he  destroys  the  latter.     The  most 
celebrated  artist  in  Europe  throws  away  his  art,  like  a 
knight  throwing  away  his  sword,  to  walk  bare-headed 
along  the  penitent's  path;  he  breaks  family  ties;  he  un- 
dermines his  days  and  his  nights  with  fanatical  ques- 
.tions.     Down  to  the  last  hour  of  his  life  he  is  at  war 
I  with  himself,  as  he  seeks  to  make  peace  with  his  con- 
science; he  is  a  fighter  for  the  invisible,  that  invisible 
which  means  so  much  more  than  happiness,  joy,  and 
^    ^  God;  a  fighter  for  the  ultimate  truth  which  he  can  share 

"v^  '  with  no  one. 

"^^  This  heroic  struggle  is  waged,  like  that  of  Beethoven 

and  Michelangelo,  in  terrible  isolation,  is  waged  like 
theirs  in  airless  spaces.  His  wife,  his  children,  his 
friends,  his  enemies,  all  fail  to  understand  him.  They 
consider  him  a  Don  Quixote,  for  they  cannot  see  the 
opponent  with  whom  he  wrestles,  the  opponent  who  is 
himself.  None  can  bring  him  solace;  none  can  help 
him.     Merely  that  he  may  die  at  peace,  he  has  to  flee 


TOLSTOI  149 

from  his  comfortable  home  on  a  bitter  night  in  winter, 
to  perish  like  a  beggar  by  the  wayside.  Always  at  this 
supreme  altitude  to  which  mankind  looks  yearningly  up, 
the  atmosphere  is  ice-bound  and  lonely.  Those  who 
create  for  all  must  do  so  in  solitude,  each  one  of  them  a 
savior  nailed  to  the  cross,  each  suffering  for  a  different 
faith;  and  yet  suffering  every  one  of  them  for  all  man- 
kind. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   UNWRITTEN   BIOGRAPHIES 

ON  the  cover  of  the  Beethoven,  the  first  of  Hol- 
land's biographies,  was  an  announcement  of 
the  lives  of  a  number  of  heroic  personalities. 
There  was  to  be  a  life  of  Mazzini.  With  the  aid  of 
Malwida  von  Meysenbug,  who  had  known  the  great 
revolutionist,  Rolland  had  been  collecting  relevant  docu- 
ments for  years.  Among  other  biographies,  there  was 
to  be  one  of  General  Hoche ;  and  one  of  the  great  utopist, 
Thomas  Paine.  The  original  scheme  embraced  lives  of 
many  other  spiritual  heroes.  Not  a  few  of  the  biog- 
raphies had  already  been  outlined  in  the  author's  mind. 
Above  all,  in  his  riper  years,  Rolland  designed  at  one 
time  to  give  a  picture  of  the  restful  world  in  which 
Goethe  moved;  to  pay  a  tribute  of  thanks  to  Shake- 
speare; and  to  discharge  the  debt  of  friendship  to  one 
little  known  to  the  world,  Malwida  von  Meysenbug. 

These  "vies  des  hommes  illustres"  have  remained  un- 
written. The  only  biographical  studies  produced  by 
Rolland  during  the  ensuing  years  were  those  of  a  more 
scientific  character,  dealing  with  Handel  and  Millet, 
and  the  minor  biographies  of  Hugo  Wolf  and  Berlioz. 
Thus  the  third  grandly  conceived  creative  cycle  like- 

150 


THE  UNWRITTEN  BIOGRAPHIES        151 

wise  remained  a  fragment.  But  on  this  occasion  the 
discontinuance  of  the  work  was  not  due  to  the  disfavor 
of  circumstances  or  to  the  indifference  of  readers.  The 
abandonment  of  the  scheme  was  the  outcome  of  the  au- 
thor's own  moral  conviction.  The  historian  in  him  had 
come  to  recognize  that  his  most  intimate  energy,  truth, 
was  not  reconcilable  with  the  desire  to  create  enthusiasm. 
In  the  single  instance  of  Beethoven  it  had  been  possible 
to  preserve  historical  accuracy  and  still  to  bring  solace, 
for  here  the  soul  had  been  lifted  towards  joy  by  the 
very  spirit  of  music.  In  Michelangelo's  case  a  certain 
strain  had  been  felt  in  the  attempt  to  present  as  a  con- 
queror of  the  world  this  man  who  was  a  prey  to  inborn 
melancholy,  who,  working  in  stone,  was  himself  petrified 
to  marble.  Even  Tolstoi  was  a  herald  rather  of  true 
life,  than  of  rich  and  enthralling  life,  life  worth  living. 
When,  finally,  Rolland  came  to  deal  with  Mazzini,  he 
realized,  as  he  sympathetically  studied  the  embitterment 
of  the  forgotten  patriot  in  old  age,  that  it  would  either 
be  necessary  to  falsify  the  re^cord  if  edification  were  to 
be  derived  from  this  biography*  or  else,  by  recording  the 
truth,  to  provide  readers  with  further  grounds  for  de- 
pression. He  recognized  that  there  are  truths  which 
love  for  mankind  must  lead  us  to  conceal.  Of  a  sudden 
he  has  personal  experience  of  the  conflict,  of  the  tragical 
dilemma,  which  Tolstoi  had  had  to  face.  He  became 
aware  of  "the  dissonance  between  his  pitiless  vision 
which  enabled  him  to  see  all  the  horror  of  reality,  and 
his  compassionate  heart  which  made  him  desire  to  veil 
these  horrors  and  retain  his  readers'  affection.     We  have 


152  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

/ 
all  experienced  this  tragical  struggle.     How  often  has 

the  artist  been  filled  with  distress  when  contemplating  a 
truth  which  he  will  have  to  describe.  For  this  same 
healthy  and  virile  truth,  which  for  some  is  as  natural 
as  the  air  they  breathe,  is  absolutely  insupportable  to 
others,  who  are  weak  through  the  tenor  of  their  lives  or 
through  simple  kindliness.  What  are  we  to  do?  Are 
we  to  suppress  this  deadly  truth,  or  to  utter  it  unspar- 
ingly? Continually  does  the  dilemma  force  itself  upon 
us,  Truth  or  Love?" 

Such  was  the  overwhelming  experience  which  came 
upon  Rolland  in  mid  career.  It  is  impossible  to  write 
the  history  of  great  men,  both  as  historian  recording 
truth,  and  as  lover  of  mankind  who  desires  to  lead  his 
fellows  upwards  towards  perfection.  To  Rolland,  the 
enthusiast,  the  historian's  function  now  seemed  the  less 
important  of  the  two.  For  what  is  the  truth  about  a 
man?  "It  is  so  difficult  to  describe  a  personality." 
Every  man  is  a  riddle,  not  for  others  alone,  but  for  him- 
self likewise.  It  is  presumptuous  to  claim  a  knowledge 
of  one  who  is  not  known  even  by  himself.  Yet  we  can- 
not help  passing  judgments  on  character,  for  to  do  so  is 
a  necessary  part  of  life.  Not  one  of  those  we  believe 
ourselves  to  know,  not  one  of  our  friends,  not  one  of 
those  we  love,  is  as  we  see  him.  In  many  cases  he  is  ut- 
terly different  from  our  picture.  We  wander  amid  the 
phantoms  we  create.  Yet  we  have  to  judge;  we  have  to 
act." 

Justice  to  himself,  justice  to  those  whose  names  he 
honored,  veneration  for  the  truth,  compassion  for  his 


THE  UNWRITTEN  BIOGRAPHIES        153 

fellows — all  these  combined  to  arrest  his  half-completed 
design.  Rolland  laid  aside  the  heroic  biographies.  He, 
would  rather  be  silent  than  surrender  to  that  cowardly 
idealism  which  touches  up  lest  it  should  have  to  re- 
pudiate. He  halted  on  a  road  which  he  had  recognized 
to  be  impassable,  but  he  did  not  forget  his  aim  "to  de- 
fend greatness  on  earth."  Since  these  historic  figures 
would  not  serve  the  ends  of  his  faith,  his  faith  created 
a  figure  for  itself.  Since  history  refused  to  supply  him 
with  the  image  of  the  consoler,  he  had  recourse  to  art, 
fashioning  amid  contemporary  life  the  hero  he  desired, 
creating  out  of  truth  and  fiction  his  own  and  our  own 
Jean  Christophe. 


PART  IV 
JEAN  CHRISTOPHE 


It  is  really  astonishing  to  note  how 
the  epic  and  the  philosophical  are 
here  compressed  within  the  same 
work.  In  respect  of  form  we  have 
so  beautiful  a  whole.  Reaching  out- 
wards, the  work  touches  the  infinite, 
touches  both  art  and  life.  In  fact 
we  may  say  of  this  romance,  that  it 
is  in  no  respects  limited  except  in 
point  of  aesthetic  form,  and  that 
where  it  transcends  form  it  comes  into 
contact  with  the  infinite.  I  might 
compare  it  to  a  beautiful  island  lying 
between  two  seas. 

Schiller   to   Goethe    concern- 
ing Wilhelm  Meister. 

October  19,  1796. 


CHAPTER  I 

SANCTUS    CHRISTOPHORUS 

UPON  the  last  page  of  his  great  work,  Rolland 
relates  the  well-known  legend  of  St.  Christo- 
pher. The  ferryman  was  roused  at  night  by  a 
little  boy  who  wished  to  be  carried  across  the  stream. 
With  a  smile  the  good-natured  giant  shouldered  the  light 
burden.  But  as  he  strode  through  the  water  the  weight 
he  was  carrying  grew  heavy  and  heavier,  until  he  felt 
he  was  about  to  sink  in  the  river.  Mustering  all  his 
strength,  he  continued  on  his  way.  When  he  reached  the 
other  shore,  gasping  for  breath,  the  man  recognized  that 
he  had  been  carrying  the  entire  meaning  of  the  world. 
Hence  his  name,  Christophorus. 

Rolland  has  known  this  long  night  of  labor.  When 
he  assumed  the  fateful  burden,  when  he  took  the  work 
upon  his  shoulders,  he  meant  to  recount  but  a  single  life. 
As  he  proceeded,  what  had  been  light  grew  heavy.  He 
found  that  he  was  carrying  the  whole  destiny  of  his  gen- 
eration, the  meaning  of  the  entire  world,  the  message  of 
love,  the  primal  secret  of  creation.  We  who  saw  him 
making  his  way  alone  through  the  night,  without  recog- 
nition, without  helpers,  without  a  word  of  cheer,  without 
a  friendly  light  winking  at  him  from  the  further  shore, 

157 


158  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

imagined  that  he  must  succumb.  From  the  hither  bank 
the  unbelievers  followed  him  with  shouts  of  scornful 
laughter.  But  he  pressed  manfully  forward  during 
these  ten  years,  what  time  the  stream  of  life  swirled 
ever  more  fiercely  around  him ;  and  he  fought  his  way  in 
the  end  to  the  unknown  shore  of  completion.  With 
bowed  back,  but  with  the  radiance  in  his  eyes  undimmed, 
did  he  finish  fording  the  river.  Long  and  heavy  night 
of  travail,  wherein  he  walked  alone!  Dear  burden, 
which  he  carried  for  the  sake  of  those  who  are  to  come 
afterwards,  bearing  it  from  our  shore  to  the  still  untrod- 
den shore  of  the  new  world.  Now  the  crossing  had  been 
safely  made.  When  the  good  ferryman  raised  his  eyes, 
the  night  seemed  to  be  over,  the  darkness  vanished. 
Eastward  the  heaven  was  all  aglow.  Joyfully  he  wel- 
comed the  dawn  of  the  coming  day  towards  which  he 
had  carried  this  emblem  of  the  day  that  was  done. 

Yet  what  was  reddening  there  was  naught  but  the 
bloody  cloud-bank  of  war,  the  flame  of  burning  Europe, 
the  flame  that  was  to  consume  the  spirit  of  the  elder 
world.  Nothing  remained  of  our  sacred  heritage  be- 
yond this,  that  faith  had  bravely  struggled  from  the 
shore  of  yesterday  to  reach  our  again  distracted  world. 
The  conflagration  has  burned  itself  out;  once  more  night 
has  lowered.  But  our  thanks  speed  towards  you,  ferry- 
man, pious  wanderer,  for  the  path  you  have  trodden 
through  the  darkness.  We  thank  you  for  your  labors, 
which  have  brought  the  world  a  message  of  hope.  For 
the  sake  of  us  all  have  you  marched  on  through  the 


SANCTUS  CHRISTOPHORUS  159 

murky  night.  The  flame  of  hatred  will  yet  be  extin- 
guished; the  spirit  of  friendship  will  again  unite  people 
with  people.     It  will  dawn,  that  new  day. 


CHAPTER  II 

RESURRECTION 

ROMAIN  HOLLAND  was  now  in  his  fortieth 
year.     His  life  seemed  to  be  a  field  of  ruins. 
The  banners  of  his  faith,  the  manifestoes  to 
1^6  the  French  people  and  to  humanity,  had  been  torn  to 

rags  by  the  storms  of  reality.  His  dramas  had  been 
buried  on  a  single  evening.  The  figures  of  the  heroes, 
which  were  designed  to  form  a  stately  series  of  historic 
bronzes,  stood  neglected,  three  as  isolated  statues,  while 
the  others  were  but  rough-casts  prematurely  destroyed. 

Yet  the  sacred  flame  still  burned  within  him.  With 
heroic  determination  he  threw  the  figures  once  more  into 
the  fiery  crucible  of  his  heart,  melting  the  metal  that  it 
might  be  recast  in  new  forms.  Since  his  feeling  for 
truth  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  find  the  supreme 
consoler  in  any  actual  historical  figure,  he  resolved  to 
create  a  genius  of  the  spirit,  who  should  combine  and 
typify  what  the  great  ones  of  all  times  had  suffered, 
a  hero  who  should  not  belong  to  one  nation  but  to  all^ 
peoples.  No  longer  confining  himself  to  historical 
truth,  he  looked  for  a  higher  harmony  in  the  new  config- 
uration of  truth  and  fiction.  He  fashioned  the  epic  of 
an  imaginary  personality.  ^ 

160 


RESURRECTION  161 

As  if  by  miracle,  all  that  he  had  lost  was  now  re- 
gained. The  vanished  fancies  of  his  school  days,  the  boy 
artist's  dream  of  a  great  artist  who  should  stand  erect 
against  the  world,  the  young  man's  vision  on  the  Jani- 
culum,  surged  up  anew.  The  figures  of  his  dramas, 
Aert  and  the  Girondists,  arose  in  a  fresh  embodiment; 
the  im£^ges  of  Beethoven,  Michelangelo,  and  Tolstoi, 
emerging  from  the  rigidity  of  history,  took  their  places 
among  our  contemporaries.  Rolland's  disillusionments 
had  been  but  precious  experiences;  his  trials,  but  a  lad- 
der to  higher  things.  What  had  seemed  like  an  end 
became  the  true  beginning,  that  of  his  masterwork,  Jean 
Christophe. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   ORIGIN   OF   THE   WORK 

JEAN  CHRISTOPHE  had  long  been  beckoning  the 
poet  from  a  distance.  The  first  message  had 
come  to  the  lad  in  the  Normal  School.  During 
those  years,  young  Holland  had  planned  the  writing  of  a 
romance,  the  history  of  a  single-hearted  artist  shattered 
on  the  rocks  of  the  world.  The  outlines  were  vague; 
the  only  definite  idea  was  that  the  hero  was  to  be  a  musi- 
cian whose  contemporaries  failed  to  understand  him. 
The  dream  came  to  nothing,  like  so  many  of  the  dreams 

\  of  youth. 

But  the  vision  returned  in  Rome,  when  Rolland's 
poetic  fervor,  long  pent  by  the  restrictions  of  school  life, 
broke  forth  with  elemental  energy.  Malwida  von  Mey- 
senbug  had  told  him  much  concerning  the  tragical  strug- 
gles of  her  intimate  friends  Wagner  and  Nietzsche. 
RoUand  came  to  realize  that  heroic  figures,  though  they 
may  be  obscured  by  the  tumult  and  dust  of  the  hour, 
belong  in  truth  to  every  age.  Involuntarily  he  learned 
to  associate  the  unhappy  experiences  of  these  recent 

,»heroes  with  those  of  the  figures  in  his  vision.  In  Parsi- 
fal, the  guileless  Fool,  by  pity  enlightened,  he  recog- 
nized an  emblem  of  the  artist  whose  intuition  guides  him 

162 


Romain  Rolland  at  llu-  lime  of  writing    ]ean  Christophe 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WORK  163 

through  the  world,  and  who  comes  to  know  the  world 
through  experience.  One  evening,  as  Rolland  walked 
on  the  Janiculum,  the  vision  of  Jean  Christophe  grew 
suddenly  clear.  His  hero  was  to  be  a  pure-hearted 
musician,  a  German,  visiting  (5ther  lands,  finding  his' 
god  in  Life;  a  free  mortal  spirit,  inspired  with  a  faith 
in  greatness,  and  with  faith  even  in  mankind,  though 
mankind  rejected  him.  ^ 

The  happy  days  of  freedom  in  Rome  were  followed 
by  many  years  of  arduous  labor,  during  which  the  duties 
of  daily   life  thrust  the   image   into   the   background. 
Rolland  had  for  a  season  become  a  man  of  action,  and"^ 
had  no  time  for  dreams.     Then  came  new  experiences/ 
to  reawaken  the  slumbering  vision.     I  have  told  of  his^ 
visit  to  Beethoven's  house  in  Bonn,  and  of  the  effect 
produced  on  his  mind  by  the  realization  of  the  tragedy 
of  the  great  composer's  life.     This  gave  a  new  direction 
to  his  thoughts.     His  hero  was  to  be  a  Beethoven  redivi- 
vus,    a    German,    a    lonely    fighter,    but   a    conqueror. 
Whereas  the  immature  youth  had  idealized  defeat,  im^ 
agining  that  to  fail  was  to  be  vanquished,  the  man  of 
riper  years  perceived  that  true  heroism  lay  in  this,  "to 
know  life,  and  yet  to  love  it."     Thus  splendidly  did  the ,. 
new  horizon   open   as   setting  for  the   long  cherished 
figure,  the  dawn  of  eternal  victory  in  our  earthly  strug- 
gle.    The  conception  of  Jean  Christophe  was  complete. 

Rolland  now  knew  his  hero.  But  it  was  necessary 
that  he  should  learn  to  describe  that  hero's  counterpart, 
that  hero's  eternal  enemy,  life,  reality.  Whoever  wishes 
to  delineate  a  combat  fairly,  must  know  both  champions. 


164  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

Rolland  became  intimately  acquainted  with  Jean  Chris- 
tophe's  opponent  through  the  experiences  of  these  years 
of  disillusionment,  through  his  study  of  literature, 
through  his  realization  of  the  falseness  of  society  and  of 
the  indifference  of  the  crowd.  It  was  necessary  for  him 
to  pass  through  the  purgatorial  fires  of  the  years  in 
Paris  before  he  could  begin  the  work  of  description. 
At  twenty,  Rolland  had  made  acquaintance  only  with 
himself,  and  was  therefore  competent  to  describe  no 
more  than  his  own  heroic  will  to  purity.  At  thirty  he 
had  become  able  to  depict  likewise  the  forces  of  resist- 
ance. All  the  hopes  he  had  cherished  ^nd  all  the  dis- 
appointments he  had  suffered  jostled  one  another  in  the 
channel  of  this  new  existence.  The  innumerable  news- 
paper cuttings,  collected  for  years,  almost  without  a 
definite  aim,  magically  arranged  themselves  as  material 
for  the  growing  work.  Personal  griefs  were  seen  to 
have  been  valuable  experience;  the  boy's  dream  swelled 
to  the  proportions  of  a  life  history. 

During  the  year  1895  the  broad  lines  were  finished. 
As  prelude,  Rolland  gave  a  few  scenes  from  J'ean 
Christophe's  youth.  During  1897,  in  a  remote  Swiss 
hamlet,  the  first  chapters  were  penned,  those  in  which 
the  music  begins  as  it  were  spontaneously.  Then  (so 
definitely  was  the  whole  design  now  shaping  itself  in  his 
mind)  he  wrote  some  of  the  chapters  for  the  fifth  and 
ninth  volumes.  Like  a  musical  composer,  Rolland  fol- 
lowed up  particular  themes  as  his  mood  directed,  themes 
which  his  artistry  was  to  weave  harmoniously  into  the 
great  symphony.     Order  came  from  within,  and  was 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WORK  165 

not  imposed  from  without.  The  work  was  not  done 
in  any  strictly  serial  succession.  The  chapters  seemed 
to  come  into  being  as  chance  might  direct.  Often  they 
were  inspired  by  the  landscape,  and  were  colored  by  out- 
ward events.  Seippel,  for  instance,  shows  that  Jean 
Christophe's  flight  into  the  forest  was  suggested  by  the 
last  journey  of  Rolland's  beloved  teacher  Tolstoi.  With/- 
appropriate  symbolism,  this  work  of  European  scope 
was  composed  in  various  parts  of  Europe;  the  opening 
scenes,  as  we  have  said,  in  a  Swiss  hamlet ;  V adolescent 
in  Zurich  and  by  the  shores  of  Lake  Zug;  much  in  Paris; 
much  in  Italy;  Antoinette  in  Oxford;  while,  after  nearly 
fifteen  years'  labor,  the  work  was  completed  in  Baveno. 
In  February,  1902,  the  first  volume,  L'aube,  was  pub- 
lished in  "Les  cahiers  de  la  quinzaine"  and  the  last 
serial  number  was  issued  on  October  20,  1912.  When 
the  fifth  serial  issue.  La  foire  sur  la  place,  appeared,  a 
publisher,  Ollendorff,  was  found  willing  to  produce  the 
whole  romance  in  book  form.  Before  the  French  orig- 
inal was  completed,  English,  SflBWsh,  and  German  trans- 
lations were  in  course  of  pubttcation,  and  Seippel's  val- 
uable biography  had  also  appeared.  Thus  when  the 
work  was  crowned  by  the  Academy  in  1913,  its  reputa- 
tion was  already  established.  In  the  fifth  decade  of  his 
life,  Rolland  had  at  length  become  famous.  His  mes- 
senger Jean  Christophe  was  a  living  conterjigorary  figure, 
on  pilgrimage  through  the  world. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   WORK   WITHOUT   A   FORMULA 

WHAT,  then,  is  Jean  Christophe?  Can  it  be 
properly  spoken  of  as  a  romance?  This 
book,  which  is  as  comprehensive  as  the 
world,  an  orbis  pictus  of  our  generation,  cannot  be  de- 
scribed by  a  single  all-embracing  term.  RoUand  once 
said:  "Any  work  which  can  be  circumscribed  by  a 
definition  is  a  dead  work."  Most  applicable  to  Jean 
Christophe  is  the  refusal  to  permit  so  living  a  creation 
to  be  hidebound  by  the  restrictions  of  a  name.  Jean 
Christophe  is  an  attempt  to  create  a  totality,  to  write  a 
book  that  is  universal  and  encyclopedic,  not  merely  nar- 
rative; a  book  which  continually  returns  to  the  central 
problem  of  the  world-all.  It  combines  insight  into  the 
soul  with  an  outlook  into  the  age.  It  is  the  portrait  of 
an  entire  generation,  and  simultaneously  it  is  the  biog- 
raphy of  an  imaginary  individual.  Grautoff  has  termed 
it  "a  cross-section  of  our  society";  but  it  is  likewise  the 
''  religious  confession  of  its  author.  It  is  critical,  but  at 
the  same  time  productive;  at  once  a  criticism  of  reality, 
and  a  creative  analysis  of  the  unconscious;  it  is  a  sym- 
>^  phony  in  words,  and  a  fresco  of  contemporary  ideas.  It 
is  an  ode  to  solitude,  and  likewise  an  Eroica  of  the  great 

166 


THE  WORK  WITHOUT  A  FORMULA     167 

European  fellowship.  But  whatever  definition  we  at- 
tempt, can  deal  with  a  part  only,  for  the  whole  eludes 
definition.  In  the  field  of  literary  endeavor,  the  nature'^  4 
of  a  moral  or  ethical  act  cannot  be  precisely  specified.^ 
Rolland's  sculptural  energies  enable  him  to  shape  the 
inner  humanity  of  what  he  is  describing;  his  idealism 
is  a  force  that  strengthens  faith,  a  tonic  of  vitality.  His 
]ean  Christophe  is  an  attempt  towards  justice,  an  attempt 
to  understand  life.  It  is  also  an  attempt  towards  faith, 
an  attempt  to  love  life.  These  coalesce  in  his  moraf 
demand  (the  only  one  he  has  ever  formulated  for  the 
free  human  being),  "to  know  life,  and  yet  to  love  it."       > 

The  essential  aim  of  the  book  is  explained  by  its  hero 
when  he  refers  to  the  disparateness  of  contemporary 
life,  to  the  manner  in  which  its  art  has  been  severed  into 
a  thousand  fragments.  "The  Europe  of  to-day  no  longer 
possesses  a  common  book;  it  has  no  poem,  no  prayer,  no 
act  of  faith  which  is  the  common  heritage  of  all.  This 
lack  is  fatal  to  the  art  of  our  time.  There  is  no  one  who 
has  written  for  all;  no  one  who  has  fought  for  all.'V 
Rolland  hoped  to  remedy  the  evil.  He  wished  to  write 
for  all  nations,  and  not  for  his  fatherland  alone.  Not 
artists  and  men  of  letters  merely,  but  all  who  are  eager 
to  learn  about  life  and  about  their  own  age,  were  to  be 
supplied  with  a  picture  of  the  environment  in  which 
they  were  living.  Jean  Christophe  gives  expression  to^ 
his  creator's  will,  saying:  "Display  everyday  life  to 
everyday  people — the  life  that  is  deeper  and  wider  than 
the  ocean.  The  least  among  us  bears  infinity  within  him 
.  .  .  Describe  the  simple  life  of  one  of  these  simple 


168  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

^     men;  .  .  .  describe  it  simply,  as  it  actually  happens. 

Do  not  trouble  about  phrasing;  do  not  dissipate  your  en- 

)        ergies,  as  do  so  many  contemporary  writers,  in  straining 

V"  -■       for  artistic  eflfects.     You  wish  to  speak  to  the  many,  and 

']/  you  must  therefore  speak  their  language.  .  .  .  Throw 

yourself  into  what  you  create;  think  your  own  thoughts; 

feel  your  own  feelings.     Let  your  heart  set  the  rhythm 

Vto  the  words.     Style  is  soul." 

]ean  Christophe  was  designed  to  be,  and  actually  is,  a 
work  of  life,  and  not  a  work  of  art;  it  was  to  be,  and  is, 
a  book  as  comprehensive  as  humanity;  for  "I'art  est  la 
vie  domptee";  art  is  life  broken  in.  The  book  differs 
from  the  majority  of  the  imaginative  writings  of  our 
day  in  that  it  does  not  make  the  erotic  problem  its  cen- 
tral feature.  But  it  has  no  central  feature.  It  at- 
tempts to  comprehend  all  problems,  all  those  which  are 
a  part  of  reality,  to  contemplate  them  from  within,  "from 
the  spectrum  of  an  individual"  as  Grautoff  expresses  it. 
The  center  is  the  inner  life  of  the  individual  human 
i  being.  The  primary  motif  of  the  romance  is  to  expound 
how  this  individual  sees  life,  or  rather,  how  he  learns 
to  see  it.  The  book  may  therefore  be  described  as  an 
educational  romance  in  the  sense  in  which  that  term  ap- 
plies to  Wilhelm  Meister.  The  educational  romance 
aims  at  showing  how,  in  years  of  apprenticeship  and 
years  of  travel,  a  human  being  makes  acquaintance  with 
the  lives  of  others,  and  thus  acquires  mastery  over  his 
own  life;  how  experience  teaches  him  to  transform  into 
individual  views  the  concepts  he  has  had  transmitted  to 
him  by  others,  many  of  which  are  erroneous;  how  he  be- 


THE  WORK  WITHOUT  A  FORMULA     169 

comes  enabled  to  transmute  the  world  so  that  it  ceases 
to  be  an  outward  phenomenon  and  becomes  an  inward 
reality.  The  educational  romance  traces  the  change 
from  curiosity  to  knowledge,  from  emotional  prejudice 
to  justice.  .  ^ 

But  this  educational  romance  is  simultaneously  a  his- 
torical romance,  a  "comedie  humaine"  in  Balzac's  sense; 
an  "histoire  contemporaine"  in  Anatole  France's  sense; 
and  in  many  respects  also  it  is  a  political  romance.  But 
Rolland,  with  his  more  catholic  method  of  treatment, 
does  not  merely  depict  the  history  of  his  generation,  but 
discusses  the  cultural  history  of  the  age,  exhibiting  the 
radiations  of  the  time  spirit,  concerning  himself  with 
poesy  and  with  socialism,  with  music  and  with  the  fine 
arts,  with  the  woman's  question  and  with  racial  prob- 
lems. Jean  Christophe  the  man  is  a  whole  man,  and 
Jean  Christophe  the  book  ejnbraces  all  that  is  human  in 
the  spiritual  cosmos.  This  romance  ignores  no  ques- 
tions; it  seeks  to  overcome  all  obstacles;  it  has  a  uni- 
versal life,  beyond  the  frontiers  of  nations,  occupations, 
and  creeds. 

It  is  a  romancej^of  art,  a  romance  of  music,  as  well 
as  a  historical  romance.  Its  hero  is  not  a  saunterer 
through  life,  like  the  heroes  of  Goethe,  Novalis,  and 
Stendhal,  but  a  creator.  As  with  Gottfried  Keller's  Der 
grilne  Heinrich,  in  this  book  the  path  through  the  exter- 
nals of  life  leads  simultaneously  to  the  inner  world,  to 
art,  to  completion.  The  birth  of  music,  the  growth  of 
genius,  is  individually  and  yet  typically  presented.  In 
his  portrayal  of  experience,  the  author  does  not  merely 


170  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

,  aim  at  giving  an  analysis  of  the  world;  he  desires  also 
I  to  expound  the  mystery  of  creation,  the  primal  secret  of 
!  life. 

Furthermore,  the  book  furnishes  an  outlook  on  the 
universe,  thus  becoming  a  philosophic,  a  religious  ro- 
mance. The  struggle  for  the  totality  of  life,  signifies  for 
Rolland  the  struggle  to  understand  its  significance  and 
origin,  the  struggle  for  God,  for  one^  own  pprsnnal 
God.  The  rhythm  ol  the  individual  existence  is  in 
Search  of  an  ultimate  harmony  between  itself  and  the 
rhythm  of  the  universal  existence.  From  this  earthly 
sphere,  the  Idea  flows  back  into  the  infinite  in  an  exultant 
canticle.  -  - 

Such  a  wealth  of  design  and  execution  was  unprece* 
dented.  In  one  work  alone,  Tolstoi's  War  and  Peace, 
had  Rolland  encountered  a  similar  conjuncture  of  a  his- 
torical picture  of  the  world  with  a  process  of  inner  puri- 
fication and  a  state  of  religious  ecstasy.  Here  only  had 
he  discerned  the  like  passionate  sense  of  responsibility 
towards  truth.  But  Rolland  diverged  from  this  splendid 
example  by  placing  his  tragedy  in  the  temporal  environ- 
ment of  the  life  of  to-day,  instead  of  amid  the  wars  of 
Napoleonic  times;  and  by  endowing  his  hero  with  the 
heroism,  not  of  arms,  but  of  the  invisible  struggles  which 
,  the  artist  is  constrained  to  fight.  Here,  as  always,  the 
most  human  of  artists  was  his  model,  the  man  to  whom  art 
was  not  an  end  in  itself,  but  was  ever  subordinate  to  an 
ethical  purpose.  In  accordance  with  the  spirit  of  Tol- 
stoi's teaching,  Jean  Christophe  was  not  to  be  a  literary 
y  work,  but  a  deed.     For  this  reason,  Rolland's  great  sym- 


r-^ 


THE  WORK  WITHOUT  A  FORMULA     171 

phony  cannot  be  subjected  to  the  restrictions  of  a  con- 
venient formula.  The  book  ignores  all  the  ordinary 
canons,  and  is  none  the  less  a  characteristic  product  of 
its  time.  Standing  outside  literature,  it  is  an  overwhelm- 
ingly powerful  literary  manifestation.  Often  enough  it 
ignores  the  rules  of  art,  and  is  yet  a  most  perfect  ex- 
pression of  art.  It  is  not  a  book,  but  a  message;  it  is  not  \  ^ 
a  history,  but  is  nevertheless  a  record  of  our  time.  More 
than  a  book,  it  is  the  daily  miracle  of  revelation  of  a 
man  who  lives  the  truth,  whose  whole  life  is  truth. 


CHAPTER  V 

KEY   TO   THE    CHARACTERS 

AS  a  romance,  Jean  Christophe  has  no  prototype 
in  literature;  but  the  characters  in  the  book 
have  prototypes  in  real  life.     Rolland  the  his- 
torian does  not  hesitate  to  borrow  some  of  the  linea- 
ments of  his  heroes  from  the  biographies  of  great  men. 
In  many  cases,  too,  the  figures  he  portrays  recall  per- 
sonalities in  contemporary  life.     In  a  manner  peculiar 
to  himself,  by  a  process  of  which  he  was  the  originator, 
he  combines  the  imaginative  with  the  historical,  fusing 
individual  qualities  in  a  new  synthesis.     His  delinea- 
I  tions  tend  to  be  mosaics,  rather  than  entirely  new  im- 
\  aginative  creations.     In  ultimate  analysis,  his  method  of 
i  literary  composition  invariably  recalls  the  work  of  a 
i musical   composer;   he   paraphrases   thematic   reminis- 
cences, without  imitating  too  closely.     The  reader  of 
Jean  Christophe  often  fancies  that,  as  in  a  key-novel, 
he  has  recognized  some  public  personality;  but  ere  long 
he  finds  that  the  characteristics  of  another  figure  intrude. 
Thus  each  portrait  is  freshly  constructed  out  of  a  hun- 
dred diverse  elements. 

Jean  Christophe  seems  at  first  to  be  Beethoven.     Seip- 
pel  has  aptly  described  La  vie  de  Beethoven  as  a  preface 

172  -^ • 


KEY  TO  THE  CHARACTERS  173 

to  Jean  Christophe.  In  truth  the  opening  volumes  of 
the  novel  show  us  a  Jean  Christophe  whose  image  is 
modeled  after  that  of  the  great  master.  But  it  becomes 
plain  in  due  course  that  we  are  being  shown  something 
more  than  one  single  musician,  that  Jean  Christophe  \V 
is  the  quintessence  of  all  great  musicians.  The  figures  '  » 
in  the  pantheon  of  musical  history  are  presented  in  a 
composite  portrait;  or,  to  use  a  musical  analogy,  Bee- 
thoven, the  master  musician,  is  the  root  of  the  chord. 
Jean  Christophe  grew  up  in  the  Rhineland,  Beethoven's 
home;  Jean  Christophe,  like  Beethoven,  had  Flemish 
blood  in  his  veins;  His  mother,,  too,  was  of  peasant  ori- 
gin, his  father  a  drunkard.  Nevertheless,  Jean  Chris- 
tophe exhibits  numerous  traits-^propfir  to  Friedemann 
Bach,  son  of  Johann  Sebastian  Bach.  Again,  the  letter 
which  young  Beethoven  redivivus  is  made  to  write  to  the 
grand  duke  is  modeled  oil  the  historical  document;  the 
episode  of  his  acquaintanceship  with  Frau  von  Kerich 
recalls  Beethoven  and  Frau  von  Breuning.  But  many___ 
incidents,  like  the  scene  m  t^e  castle,  remind  the  reader 
of  Mozart's  youth;  and  Mozart's  little  love  episode  with 
Rose  Cannabich  is  transferred  to  the  life  of  Jean  Chris- 
tophe. The  older  Jean  Christophe  grows,  the  less  does ' 
his  personality  recall  that  of  Beethoven.  In  external 
characteristics  he  grows  rather  to  resemble  Cluck  and 
Handel.  Of  the  latter,  Rolland  writes  elsewhere  that 
"his  formidable  bluntness  alarmed  every  one."  Word 
for  word  we  can  apply  to  Jean  Christophe,  Rolland's  de- 
scription of  Handel:  "He  was  independent  and  irri- 
table, and  could  never  adapt  himself  to  the  conventions 


174  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

of  social  life.  He  insisted  on  calling  a  spade  a  spade, 
and  twenty  times  a  day  he  aroused  annoyance  in  all  who 
had  to  associate  with  him."  The  life  history  of  Wagner 
had  much  influence  upon  the  delineation  of  Jean  Chris- 
tophe.  The  rebellious  flight  to  Paris,  a  flight  originat- 
ing, as  Nietzsche  phrases  it,  "from  the  depths  of  in- 
stinct"; the  hack-work  done  for  minor  publishers;  the 
sordid  details  of  daily  life — all  these  things  have  been 
transposed  almost  verbatim  into  Jean  Christophe  from 
Wagner's  autobiographical  sketches  Ein  deutscher  Mu- 
siker  in  Paris. 

Ernst  Decsey's  life  of  Hugo  Wolf  was,  however,  de- 
cisive in  its  influence  upon  the  configuration  of  the  lead- 
ing character  in  Rolland's  book,  upon  the  almost  violent 
departure  from  the  picture  of  Beethoven.  Not  merely 
do  we  find  individual  incidents  taken  from  Decsey's 
book,  such  as  the  hatred  for  Brahms,  the  visit  paid  to 
Hassler  (Wagner),  the  musical  criticism  published  in 
"Dionysos"  {"^Wiener  Salonblatt"),  the  tragi-comedy  of 
the  unsuccessful  overture  to  Penthesilea,  and  the  memo- 
rable visit  to  Professor  Schulz  (Emil  Kaufmann).  Fur- 
thermore, Wolf's  whole  character,  his  method  of  musical 
creation,  is  transplanted  into  the  soul  of  Jean  Christophe. 
His  primitive  force  of  production,  the  volcanic  eruptions 
flooding  the  world  with  melody,  shooting  forth  into  eter- 
nity four  songs  in  the  space  of  a  day,  with  subsequent 
months  of  inactivity,  the  brusque  transition  from  the 
joyful  activity  of  creation  to  the  gloomy  brooding  of 
inertia — this  form  of  genius  which  was  native  to  Hugo 
Wolf  becomes  part  of  the  tragical  equipment  of  Jean 


KEY  TO  THE  CHARACTERS  175 

Christophe.  Whereas  his  physical  characteristics  re- 
mind us  of  Handel,  Beethoven,  and  Gluck,  his  mental 
type  is  assimilated  rather  in  its  convulsive  energy  to  that 
of  the  great  song-writer.  With  this  difference,  that  to 
Jean  Christophe,  in  his  more  brilliant  hours,  there  is 
superadded  the  cheerful  serenity,  the  childlike  joy,  of 
Schubert.  He  has  a  dual  nature.  Jean  Christophe  is  i 
the  classical  type  and  the  modem  type  of  musician  com- 
bined into  a  single  personality,  so  that  he  contains  even 
many  of  the  characteristics  of  Gustav  Mahler  and  Cesar 
Frank.  He  is  not  an  individual  musician,  the  figure  of 
one  living  in  a  particular  generation;  he  is  the  sublima- 
tion of  music  as  a  whole. 

Nevertheless,  in  Jean  Christophe's  life  we  find  inci- 
dents deriving  from  the  adventures  of  those  who  were 
not  musicians.  From  Goethe's  Wahrheit  und  Dichtung 
comes  the  encounter  with  the  French  players;  I  have 
already  said  that  the  story  of  Tolstoi's  last  days  was 
represented  in  Jean  Christophe's  flight  into  the  forest 
(though  in  this  latter  case,  from  the  figure  of  a  benighted 
traveler,  Nietzsche's  countenance  glances  at  us  for  a  mo- 
ment) .  Grazia  typifies  the  well-beloved  who  never  dies ; 
Antoinette  is  a  picture  of  Renan's  sister  Henriette;  Fran- 
goise  Oudon,  the  actress,  recalls  Eleanora  Duse,  but 
in  certain  respects  she  reminds  us  of  Suzanne  Depres. 
Emmanuel  contains,  in  addition  to  traits  that  are  purely 
imaginary,  lineaments  that  are  drawn  respectively  from 
Charles  Louis  Philippe  and  Charles  Peguy;  among  the 
minor  figures,  lightly  sketched,  we  seem  to  see  Debussy, 
Verhaeren,  and  Moreas.     When  La  foire  sur  la  place 


176  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

was  published,  the  figures  of  Roussin  the  deputy,  Levy- 
Coeur,  the  critic,  Gamache  the  newspaper  proprietor, 
and  Hecht  the  music  seller,  hurt  the  feelings  of  not  a 
few  persons  against  whom  no  shafts  had  been  aimed  by 
RoUand.  The  portraits  had  been  painted  from  studies 
of  the  commonplace,  and  typified  the  incessantly  re- 
curring mediocrities  which  are  eternally  real  no  less 
than  are  figures  of  exquisite  rarity. 

One  portrait,  however,  that  of  Olivier,  would  seem  to 
have  been  purely  fictive.  For  this  very  reason,  Olivier 
is  felt  to  be  the  most  living  of  all  the  characters,  pre- 
cisely because  we  cannot  but  feel  that  in  many  respects 
we  have  before  us  the  artist's  own  picture,  displaying 
not  so  much  the  circumstantial  destiny  as  the  human  es- 
sence of  Romain  Rolland.  Like  the  classical  painters, 
he  has,  almost  unmarked,  introduced  himself  slightly 
disguised  amid  the  historical  scenario.  The  descrip- 
tion is  that  of  his  own  figure,  slender,  refined,  slightly 
stooping;  here  we  see  his  own  energy,  inwardly  directed, 
and  consuming  itself  in  idealism;  Rolland's  enthusiasm 
is  displayed  in  Olivier's  lucid  sense  of  justice,  in  his 
resignation  as  far  as  his  personal  lot  is  concerned,  though 
he  never  resigns  himself  to  the  abandonment  of  his  cause. 
It  is  true  that  in  the  novel  this  gentle  spirit,  the  pupil  of 
Tolstoi  and  Renan,  leaves  the  field  of  action  to  his 
friend,  and  vanishes,  the  symbol  of  a  past  world.  But 
Jean  Christophe  was  merely  a  dream,  the  longing  for 
energy  sometimes  felt  by  the  man  of  gentle  disposition. 
Olivier-Rolland  limns  this  dream  of  his  youth,  designing 
upon  his  literary  canvas  the  picture  of  his  own  life. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   HEROIC    SYMPHONY 

AN  abundance  of  figures  and  events,  an  impres- 
sive multiplicity  of  contrasts,  are  united  by  a 
single  element,  music.  In  Jean  Christophe, 
music  is  the  form  as  well  as  the  content.  For  the  sake  of 
simplicity  we  have  to  call  the  work  a  romance  or  a  novel. 
But  nowhere  can  it  be  said  to  attach  to  the  epic  tradition 
of  any  previous  writers  of  romance:  whether  to  that  of 
Balzac,  Zola,  and  Flaubert,  who  aimed  at  analyzing  so- 
ciety into  its  chemical  elements;  or  to  that  of  Goethe, 
Gottfried  Keller,  and  Stendhal,  who  sought  to  secure  a 
crystallization  of  the  soul.  Rolland  is  neither  a  narra- 
tor, nor  what  may  be  termed  a  poetical  romancer;  he 
is  a  musician  who  weaves  everything  into  harmony.  In 
ultimate  analysis,  Jean  Christophe  is  a  symphony  born 
out  of  the  spirit  of  music,  just  as  in  Nietzsche's  view 
classical  tragedy  was  bom  out  of  that  spirit;  its  laws  are 
not  those  of  the  narrative,  of  the  lecture,  but  those  of 
controlled  emotion.  Rolland  is  a  musician,  not  an  epic 
poet. 

Even  qua  narrator,  Rolland  does  not  possess  what  we 
term  style.     He  does  not  write  a  classical  French;  he 

has  no  stable  architechtonic  in  his  sentences,  no  definite 

177 


178  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

rhythm,  no  typical  hue  in  his  wording,  no  diction  pe- 
culiar to  himself.  His  personality  does  not  obtrude 
itself,  since  he  does  not  form  the  matter  but  is  formed 
thereby.  He  possesses  an  inspired  power  of  adaptation 
to  the  rhythm  of  the  events  he  is  describing,  to  the  mood 
of  the  situation.  The  writer's  mind  acts  as  a  resonator. 
In  the  opening  lines  the  tempo  is  set.  Then  the  rhythm 
surges  on  through  the  scene,  carrying  with  it  the  epi- 
sodes, which  often  seem  like  individual  brief  poems  each 
sustained  by  its  own  melody — songs  and  airs  which  ap- 
pear and  pass,  rapidly  giving  place  to  new  movements. 
Some  of  the  preludes  in  Jean  Christophe  are  examples  of 
pure  song-craft,  delicate  arabesques  and  capriccios, 
islands  of  tone  amid  the  roaring  sea;  then  come  other 
moods,  gloomy  ballads,  nocturnes  breathing  elemental 
energy  and  sadness.  When  Rolland's  writing  is  the  out- 
come of  musical  inspiration,  he  shows  himself  one  of 
the  masters  of  language.  At  times,  however,  he  speaks 
to  us  as  historian,  as  critical  student  of  the  age.  Then 
the  splendor  fades.  Such  historical  and  critical  pas- 
sages are  like  the  periods  of  cold  recitative  in  musical 
drama,  periods  which  are  requisite  in  order  to  give 
continuity  to  the  story,  and  which  thus  fulfill  an  intel- 
lectual need,  however  much  our  aroused  feelings  may 
make  us  regret  their  interpolation.  The  ancient  conflict 
between  the  musician  and  the  historian  persists  unrecon- 
ciled in  Rolland's  work. 

Only  through  the  spirit  of  music  can  the  architectonic 
of  Jean  Christophe  be  understood.  However  plastic  the 
elaboration  of  the  characters,  their  effective  force  is  dis- 


A  HEROIC  SYMPHONY  179 

played  solely  in  so  far  as  they  are  thematically 
interwoven  into  the  resounding  tide  of  life's  modulations. 
The  essential  matter  is  always  the  rhythm  which  these 
characters  emit,  and  which  issues  most  powerfully  of  all 
from  Jean  Christophe,  the  mr.ster  of  music.  The  struc- 
ture, the  inner  architectural  conception  of  the  work,  can- 
not be  understood  by  those  who  merely  contemplate  its 
obvious  subdivision  into  ten  volumes.  This  is  dictated 
by  the  exigencies  of  book  production.  The  essential 
caesuras  are  those  between  the  lesser  sections,  each  of 
which  is  written  in  a  different  key.  Only  a  trained 
musician,  one  familiar  with  the  great  symphonies,  can 
follow  in  detail  the  way  in  which  the  epic  poem  Jean 
Christophe  is  constructed  as  a  symphony,  an  Eroica ;  only 
a  musician  can  realize  how  in  this  work  the  most  com- 
prehensive type  of  musical  composition  is  transposed 
into  the  world  of  speech. 

Let  the  reader  recall  the  chorale-like  undertone,  the 
booming  note  of  the  Rhine.  We  seem  to  be  listening  to 
some  primal  energy,  to  the  stream  of  life  in  its  roaring 
progress  through  eternity.  A  little  melody  rises  above 
the  general  roar.  Jean  Christophe,  the  child,  has  been 
bom  out  of  the  great  music  of  the  universe,  to  fuse  in 
turn  with  the  endless  stream  of  sound.  The  first  figures 
make  a  dramatic  entry;  the  mystical  chorale  gradually 
subsides;  the  mortal  drama  of  childhood  begins.  By 
degrees  the  stage  is  filled  with  personalities,  with  melo- 
dies; voices  answer  the  lisping  syllables  of  Jean  Chris- 
tophe; until,  finally,  the  virile  tones  of  Jean  Christophe 
and  the  gentler  voice  of  Olivier  come  to  dominate  the 


180  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

theme.  Meanwhile,  all  the  forms  of  life  and  music  are 
unfolded  in  concords  and  discords.  Thus  we  have  the 
tragical  outbreaks  of  a  melancholy  like  that  of  Beetho- 
ven; fugues  upon  the  themes  of  art;  vigorous  dance 
scenes,  as  in  Le  buisson  ardent;  odes  to  the  infinite  and 
songs  to  nature,  pure  like  those  of  Schubert.  Wonder- 
ful is  the  interconnection  of  the  whole,  and  marvelous 
is  the  way  in  which  the  tide  of  sound  ebbs  once  more. 
The  dramatic  tumult  subsides;  the  last  discords  are  re- 
solved into  the  great  harmony.  In  the  final  scene,  the 
opening  melody  recurs,  to  the  accompaniment  of  invis- 
ible choirs;  the  roaring  river  flows  out  into  the  limitless 
sea. 

Thus  Jean  Christophe,  the  Eroica,  ends  in  a  chorale  to 
the  infinite  powers  of  life,  ends  in  the  undying  ocean 
of  music.  Rolland  wished  to  convey  the  notion  of 
these  eternal  forces  of  life  symbolically  through  the 
imagery  of  the  element  which  for  us  mortals  brings  us 
into  closest  contact  with  the  infinite;  he  wished  to  typify 
jthese  forces  in  the  art  which  is  timeless,  which  is  free, 
'which  knows  nothing  of  national  limitations,  which  is 
eternal.  Thus  music  is  at  once  the  form  and  the  con- 
tent of  the  work,  "simultaneously  its  kernel  and  its 
shell,"  as  Goethe  said  of  nature.  Nature  is  ever  the  law 
of  laws  for  art. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    ENIGMA   OF    CREATIVE    WORK 

JEAN  CHRISTOPHE  took  the  form  of  a  book  of 
life  rather  than  that  of  a  romance  of  art,  for  Hol- 
land does  not  make  a  specific  distinction  between 
poietic  types  of  men  and  those  devoid  of  creative  genius, 
but  inclines  rather  to  see  in  the  artist  the  most  human 
among  men.]  Just  as  for  Goethe,  true  life  was  identical 
with  activity;  so  for  Holland,  true  life  is  identical  with 
production.  One  who  shuts  himself  away,  who  has  no 
surplus  being,  who  fails  to  radiate  energy  that  shall 
flow  beyond  the  narrow  limits  of  his  individuality  to 
become  part  of  the  vital  energy  of  the  future,  is  doubt- 
less still  a  human  being,  but  is  not  genuinely  alive. 
There  may  occur  a  death  of  the  soul  before  the  death 
of  the  body,  just  as  there  is  a  life  that  outlasts  one's 
own  life.  The  real  boundary  across  which  we  pass  from 
life  to  extinction  is  not  constituted  by  physical  death  but 
the  cessation  of  effective  influence.  Creation  alone  is 
life.  "There  is  only  one  delight,  that  of  creation. 
Other  joys  are  but  shadows,  alien  to  the  world  though 
they  hover  over  the  world.  Desire  is  creative  desire; 
for  love,  for  genius,  for  action.  One  and  all  are  born 
out  of  ardor.     It  matters  not  whether  we  are  creating 

181 


u 


182  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

in  the  sphere  of  the  body  or  in  the  sphere  of  the  spirit. 
Ever,  in  creation,  we  are  seeking  to  escape  from  the 
prison  of  the  body,  to  throw  ourselves  into  the  storm  of 
life,  to  be  as  gods.     To  create  is  to  slay  death." 
.  Creation,  therefore,  is  the  meaning  of  life,  its  secret, 

::^^'  its  innermost  kernel.  While  Rolland  almost  always 
chooses  an  artist  for  his  hero,  he  does  not  make  this 
choice  in  the  arrogance  of  the  romance  writer  who  likes 
to  contrast  the  melancholy  genius  with  the  dull  crowd. 
His  aim  is  to  draw  nearer  to  the  primal  problems  of  ex- 
istence. In  the  work  of  art,  transcending  time  and 
space,  the  eternal  miracle  of  generation  out  of  nothing 
(or  out  of  the  all)  is  made  manifest  to  the  senses,  while 
simultaneously  its  mystery  is  made  plain  to  the  intelli- 
i\  gence.  For  Rolland,  artistic  creation  is  the  problem  of 
//  problems  precisely  because  the  artist  is  the  most  human 
' '  of  men.  Everywhere  Rolland  threads  his  way  through 
the  obscure  labyrinth  of  creative  work,  that  he  may  draw 
near  to  the  burning  moment  of  spiritual  receptivity,  to 
the  painful  act  of  giving  birth.  He  watches  Michel- 
angelo shaping  pain  in  stone;  Beethoven  bursting  forth 
in  melody;  Tolstoi  listening  to  the  heart-beat  of  doubt 
in  his  own  laden  breast.  To  each,  Jacob's  angel  is  re- 
vealed in  a  different  form,  but  for  all  alike  the  esctatic 
force  of  the  divine  struggle  continues  to  burn.  Through- 
out the  years,  Rolland's  sole  endeavor  has  been  to  dis- 
'  cover  this  ultimate  type  of  artist,  this  primitive  element 
of  creation,  much  as  Goethe  was  in  search  of  the  arche- 
typal plant.  Rolland  wishes  to  discover  the  essential 
creator,  the  essential  act  of  creation,  for  he  knows  that 


THE  ENIGMA  OF  CREATIVE  WORK     183 

in  this  mystery  are  comprised  the  root  and  the  blossoms 
of  the  whole  of  life's  enigma. 

As  historian  he  had  depicted  the  birth  of  art  in  hu- 
manity. Now,  as  poet,  he  was  approaching  the  same 
problem  in  a  different  form,  and  was  endeavoring  to 
depict  the  birth  of  art  in  one  individual.  In  his  His- 
toire  de  Vopera  avant  Lully  et  Scarlatti,  and  in  his 
Musiciens  d'autrefois,  he  had  shown  how  music,  "blos- 
soming throughout  the  ages,"  begins  to  form  its  buds; 
and  how,  grafted  upon  different  racial  stems  and  upon 
different  periods,  it  grows  in  new  forms.  But  here  be- 
gins the  mystery  of  creation.  Every  beginning  is 
wrapped  in  obscurity;  and  since  the  path  of  all  mankind 
is  symbolically  indicated  in  each  individual,  the  mystery 
recurs  in  each  individual's  experience.  Rolland  is 
aware  that  the  intellect  can  never  unravel  this  ultimate 
mystery.  He  does  not  share  the  views  of  the  monists, 
for  whom  creation  has  become  trivialized  to  a  mechani- 
cal effect  which  they  would  explain  by  talking  of  primi- 
tive gases  and  by  similar  verbiage.  He  knows  that  na- 
ture is  modest,  and  that  in  her  secret  hours  of  genera- 
tion she  would  fain  elude  observation;  he  knows  that  we 
are  unable  to  watch  her  at  work  in  those  moments  when 
crystal  is  joining  to  crystal,  and  when  flowers  are  spring- 
ing out  of  the  buds.  Nothing  does  she  hide  more  jeal- 
ously than  her  inmost  magic,  everlasting  procreation,  the 
very  secret  of  infinity. 

Creation,  therefore,  the  life  of  life,  is  for  Rolland 
a  mystic  power,  far  transcending  human  will  and  human 
intelligence.     In  every  soul  there  lives,  side  by  side  with 


)i 


184  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

the  conscious  individuality,  a  stranger  as  guest.  "Man's 
chief  endeavor  since  he  became  man  has  been  to  build 
up  dams  that  shall  control  this  inner  sea  by  the  powers 
of  reason  and  religion.  But  when  a  storm  comes  (and 
those  most  plenteously  endowed  are  peculiarly  subject 
to  such  storms),  the  elemental  powers  are  set  free." 
Hot  waves  flood  the  soul,  streaming  forth  out  of  the  un- 
conscious; not  out  of  the  will,  but  against  the  will;  out 
of  a  super-will.  This  "dualism  of  the  soul  and  its 
daimon"  cannot  be  overcome  by  the  clear  light  of  rea- 
son. The  energy  of  the  creative  spirit  surges  from  the 
depths  of  the  blood,  often  from  parents  and  remoter 
progenitors,  not  entering  through  the  doors  and  windows 
of  the  normal  waking  consciousness,  but  permeating  the 
whole  being  as  atmospheric  spirits  may  be  conceived 
to  do.  Of  a  sudden  the  artist  is  seized  as  by  intoxica- 
tion, inspired  by  a  will  independent  of  the  will,  sub- 
jected to  the  power  "of  the  ineffable  riddle  of  the  world 
and  of  life,"  as  Goethe  terms  the  daimonic.  The  divine 
breaks  upon  him  like  a  hurricane;  or  opens  before  him 
like  an  abyss,  "dieu  abime,"  into  which  he  hurls  himself 
unreflectingly.  In  Holland's  sense,  we  must  not  say 
that  the  true  artist  has  his  art,  but  that  the  art  has  the 
artist.  Art  is  the  hunter,  the  artist  is  the  quarry ;  art  is 
the  victor,  whereas  the  artist  is  happy  in  that  he  is 
again  and  again  and  forever  the  vanquished.  Thus  be- 
fore creation  we  must  have  the  creator.  Genius  is  pre- 
destined. At  work  in  the  channels  of  the  blood,  while 
the  senses  still  slumber,  thi^  power  from  without  pre- 
pares the  great  magic  for  the  child.     Wonderful  is  Rol- 


THE  ENIGMA  OF  CREATIVE  WORK     185 

land's  description  of  the  way  in  which  Jean  Christophe's 
soul  was  already  filled  with  music  before  he  had  heard 
the  first  notes.  The  daimon  is  there  within  the  youth- 
ful breast,  awaiting  but  a  sign  before  stirring,  before 
making  himself  known  to  the  kindred  spirit  within  the 
dual  soul.  When  the  boy,  holding  his  grandfather's 
hand,  enters  the  church  and  is  greeted  by  an  outburst  of 
music  from  the  organ,  the  genius  within  acclaims  the 
work  of  the  distant  brother  and  the  child  is  filled  with 
joy.  Again,  driving  in  a  carriage,  and  listening  to  the 
melodious  rhythm  of  the  horse's  hoofs,  his  heart  goes 
out  in  unconscious  brotherhood  to  the  kindred  element. 
Then  comes  one  of  the  most  beautiful  passages  in  the 
book,  probably  the  most  beautiful  of  those  treating  of 
music.  The  little  Jean  Christophe  clambers  on  to  the 
music  stool  in  front  of  the  black  chest  filled  with  magic, 
and  for  the  first  time  thrusts  his  fingers  into  the  unend- 
ing thicket  of  concords  and  discords,  where  each  note 
that  he  strikes  seems  to  answer  yes  or  no  to  the  uncon- 
scious questions  of  the  stranger's  voice  within  him. 
Soon  he  learns  to  produce  the  tones  he  desires  to  hear. 
At  first  the  airs  had  sought  him  out,  but  now  he  can 
seek  them  out.  His  soul  which,  thirsting  for  music,  has 
long  been  eagerly  drinking  in  its  strains,  now  flows  forth 
creatively  over  the  barriers  into  the  world. 

This  inborn  daimon  in  the  artist  grows  with  the  child, 
ripens  with  the  man,  and  ages  as  the  man  grows  old. 
Like  a  vampire  it  is  nourished  by  all  the  experiences  of 
its  host,  drinking  his  joy*  and  his  sorrows,  gradually 
sucking  up  all  the  life  into  itself,  so  that  for  the  creative 


186  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

human  being  nothing  more  remains  but  the  eternal  thirst 
,and  the  torment  of  creation.     In  Rolland's  sense  the 
artist  does  not  will  to  create,  but  must  create.     For  him, 
production  is  not  (as  Nordau  and  Nordau's  congeners 
fancy  in  their  simplicity)   a  morbid  outgrowth,  an  ab- 
normality of  life,  but  the  only  true  health;  unproductiv- 
ity  is  disease.     Never  has  the  torment  of  the  lack  of  in- 
spiration been  more  splendidly  described  than  in  Jean 
Christophe.     The  soul  in  such  cases  is  like  a  parched 
land  under  a  torrid  sun,  and  its  need  is  worse  than 
death.     No  breath  of  wind  brings  coolness;  everything 
withers;  joy  and  energy  fade;  the  will  is  utterly  relaxed 
Suddenly  comes  a  storm  out  of  the  swiftly  overcast 
heavens,  the  thunder  of  the  burgeoning  power,  the  light 
ning  of  inspiration;  the  stream  wells  up  from  inexhausti 
ble  springs,  carrying  the  soul  along  with  it  in  eternal  de 
sire;  the  artist  has  become  the  whole  world,  has  become 
God,  the  creator  of  all  the  elements.     Whatever  he  en 
counters,  he  sweeps  along  with  him  in  his  rush ;  "tout  lui 
est  pretexte  a  sa  fecondite  intarissable";  everything  is 
material  for  his  inexhaustible  fertility.     He  transforms 
the  whole  of  life  into  art ;  like  Jean  Christophe  he  trans- 
1  forms  his  death  into  a  symphony. 

In  order  to  grasp  life  in  its  entirety,  Rolland  has  en- 
deavored to  describe  the  profoundest  mystery  of  life;  to 
describe  creation,  the  origin  of  the  all,  the  development 
of  art  in  an  artist.  He  has  furnished  a  vivid  descrip- 
tion of  the  tie  between  creation  and  life,  which  weak- 
lings are  so  eager  to  avoid.  Jean  Christophe  is  simul- 
taneously the  working  genius  and  the  suffering  man;  he 


THE  ENIGMA  OF  CREATIVE  WORK     187 

suffers  through  creation,  and  creates  through  suffering.   / 
For  the  very  reason  that  Rolland  is  himself  a  creator, 
the  imaginary  figure  of  Jean  Christophe,  the  artist,  is 
transcendently  alive. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JEAN   CHRISTOPHE 

ART  has  many  forms,  but  its  highest  form  is  al- 
ways that  which  is  most  intimately  akin  to  na- 
ture in  its  laws  and  its  manifestations.  True 
genius  works  eilementally,  works  naturally,  is  wide  as 
the  world  and  manifold  as  mankind.  It  creates  out  of 
its  own  abundance,  not  out  of  weakness.  Its  perennial 
effect,  therefore,  is  to  create  more  strength,  to  glorify 
nature,  and  to  raise  life  above  its  temporal  confines  into 
infinity. 

Jean  Christophe  is  inspired  with  such  genius.  His 
name  is  symbolical.  Jean  Christophe  Krafft  is  himself 
energy  (Kraft),  the  indefatigable  energy  that  springs 
from  peasant  ancestry.  It  is  the  energy  which  is  hurled 
into  life  like  a  projectile,  the  energy  that  forcibly  over- 
comes every  obstacle.  Now,  as  long  as  we  identify  the 
concept  of  life  with  quiescent  being,  with  inactive  ex- 
istence, with  things  as  they  are,  this  force  of  nature  must 
be  ever  at  war  with  life.  For  Rolland,  however,  life  is 
not  the  quiescent,  but  the  struggle  against  quiescence;  it 
is  creation,  poiesis,  the  eternal,  upward  and  onward  im- 
pulse against  the  inertia  of  "the  perpetual  as-you-were." 
Among  artists,  one  who  is  a  fighter,  an  innovator,  must 

188 


JEAN  CHRISTOPHE  189 

necessarily  be  such  a  genius.  Around  him  stand  other 
artists  engaged  in  comparatively  peaceful  activities,  the 
contemplators,  the  sage  observers  of  that  which  is,  the 
completers  of  the  extant,  the  imperturbable  organizers 
of  accomplished  facts.  They,  the  heirs  of  the  past,  have 
repose;  he,  the  precursor,  has  storm.  It  is  his  lot  to 
transform  life  into  a  work  of  art;  he  cannot  enjoy  life  as 
a  work  of  art;  first  he  must  create  life  as  he  would  have 
it,  create  its  form,  its  tradition,  its  ideal,  its  truth,  its 
god.  Nothing  for  him  is  ready-made;  he  has  eternally 
to  begin.  Life  does  not  welcome  him  into  a  warm 
house,  where  he  can  forthwith  make  himself  at  home. 
For  him,  life  is  but  plastic  material  for  a  new  edifice, 
wherein  those  who  come  after  will  live.  Such  a  man, 
therefore,  knows  nothing  of  repose.  "Work  unrest- 
ingly,"  says  his  god  to  him;  "you  must  fight  ceaselessly." 
Obedient  to  the  injunction,  from  boyhood  to  the  day  of 
hfs  death  he  follows  this  path,  fighting  without  truce,  the 
flaming  sword  of  the  will  in  his  hand.  Often  he  grows 
weary,  wondering  whether  struggle  must  indeed  be  un-  ( 
ending,  asking  himself  with  Job  whether  his  days  be  not 
"like  the  days  of  an  hireling."  But  soon,  shaking  off  , 
lethargy,  he  recognizes  that  "we  cannot  be  truly  alive  '; 
while  we  continue  to  ask  why  we  live;  we  must  live  life 
for  its  own  sake."  He  knows  that  labor  is^  its  own  re- 
ward. In  an  hour  of  illumination  he  sums  up  his  des- 
tiny in  the  splendid  phrase:  "I  do  not  seek  peace;  I 
seek  life." 

But  struggle  implies  the  use  of  force.     Despite  his 
natural  kindliness  of  disposition,  Jean  Christophe  is  an 


w 


190  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

apostle  of  force.  We  discern  in  him  something  barbaric 
and  elemental,  the  power  of  a  storm  or  of  a  torrent 
which,  obeying  not  its  own  will  but  the  unknown  laws 
of  nature,  rushes  down  from  the  heights  into  the  lower 
levels  of  life.  His  outward  aspect  is  that  of  a  fighter. 
He  is  tall  and  massive,  almost  uncouth,  with  large  hands 
and  brawny  arms.  He  has  the  sanguine  temperament, 
and  is  liable  to  outbursts  of  turbulent  passion.  His  foot- 
fall is  heavy;  his  gait  is  awkward,  though  he  knows  noth- 
ing of  fatigue.  These  characteristics  derive  from  the 
crude  energy  of  his  peasant  forefathers  on  the  maternal 
side;  their  pristine  strength  gives  him  steadfastness  in 
the  most  arduous  crises  of  existence.  "Well  is  it  with 
him  who  amid  the  mishaps  of  life  is  sustained  by  the 
power  of  a  sturdy  stock,  so  that  the  feet  of  father  and 
grandfathers  may  carry  forward  the  son  when  he  grows 
weary,  so  that  the  vigorous  growth  of  ^nore  robust  fore- 
bears may  relift  the  crushed  soul."  The  power  of  re- 
silence  against  the  oppression  of  existence  is  given  by 
such  physical  energy.  Still  more  helpful  is  Jean  Chris- 
tophe's  trust  in  the  future,  his  healthy  and  unyielding 
optimism,  his  invincible  confidence  in  victory.  "I  have 
centuries  to  look  forward  to,"  he  cries  exultantly  in  an 
hour  of  disillusionment.  "Hail  to  life!  Hail  to  joy!" 
From  the  German  race  he  inherits  Siegfried's  confidence 
in  success,  and  for  this  reason  he  is  ever  a  fighter.  He 
knows,  "le  genie  veut  I'obstacle,  I'obstacle  fait  le  genie" 
— genius  desires  obstacles,  for  obstacles  create  genius. 

Force,  however,  is  always  wilful.     Young  Jean  Chris- 
tophe,   while  his  energies  have  not  yet  been   spiritu- 


JEAN  CHRISTOPHE  191 

ally  enlightened,  have  not  yet  been  ethically  tamed,  can 
see  no  one  but  himself.  He  is  unjust  towards  others, 
deaf  and  blind  to  remonstrance,  indifferent  as  to  whether 
his  actions  may  please  or  displease.  Like  a  woodcutter, 
ax  in  hand,  he  hastes  stormfully  through  the  forest, 
striking  right  and  left,  simply  to  secure  light  and  space 
for  himself.  He  despises  German  art  without  under- 
standing it,  and  scorns  French  art  without  knowing  any- 
thing about  it.  He  is  endowed  with  "tlie  marvelous 
impudence  of  opinionated  youth";  that  of  the  under- 
graduate who  says,  "the  world  did  not  exist  till  I  cre- 
ated it."  His  strength  has  its  fling  in  contentiousness; 
for  only  when  struggling  does  he  feel  that  he  is  himself, 
then  only  can  he  enjoy  his  passion  for  life. 

These  struggles  of  Jean  Christophe  continue  through- 
out the  years,  for  his  maladroitness  is  no  less  conspicu- 
ous than  his  strength.  He  does  not  understand  his  op- 
ponents. He  is  slow  to  learn  the  lessons  of  life;  and  it 
is  precisely  because  the  lessons  are  learned  so  slowly, 
piece  by  piece,  each  stage  besprinkled  with  blood  and 
watered  with  tears,  that  the  novel  is  so  impressive  and 
so  full  of  help.  Nothing  comes  easily  to  him;  no  ripe 
fruit  ever  falls  into  his  hands.  He  is  simple  like  Parsi- 
fal, naive,  somewhat  boisterous  and  provincial.  Instead 
of  rubbing  off  his  angularities  upon  the  grindstones  of 
social  life,  he  bruises  himself  by  his  clumsy  movements. 
He  is  an  intuitive  genius,  not  a  psychologist;  he  fore- 
sees nothing,  but  must  endure  all  things  before  he  can 
know.  "He  had  not  the  hawklike  glance  of  Frenchmen 
and  Jews,  who  discern  the  most  trifling  characteristics  of 


192  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

all  that  they  see.  He  silently  absorbed  everything  he 
came  in  contact  with,  as  a  sponge  absorbs.  Not  until 
days  or  hours  had  elapsed  would*  he  become  fully  aware 
of  what  had  now  become  a  part  of  himself."  Nothing 
was  real  to  him  so  long  as  it  remained  objective.  To  be 
of  use,  every  experience  must  be,  as  it  were,  digested  and 
worked  up  into  his  blood.  He  could  not  exchange  ideas 
and  concepts  one  for  another  as  people  exchange  bank 
notes.  After  prolonged  nausea,  he  was  able  to  free 
himself  from  all  the  conventional  lies  and  trivial  notions 
which  had  been  instilled  into  him  in  youth,  and  was  then 
at  length  enabled  to  absorb  fresh  nutriment.  Before  he 
could  know  France,  he  had  to  strip  away  all  her  masks 
one  after  another;  before  he  could  reach  Grazia,  "the 
well-beloved  who  never  dies,"  he  had  to  make  his  way 
through  less  lofty  adventures.  Before  he  could  discover 
himself  and  before  he  could  discover  his  god,  he  had  to 
live  the  whole  of  his  life  through.  Not  until  he  reaches 
the  other  shore  does  Christophorus  recognize  that  his 
burden  has  been  a  message. 

He  knows  that  "it  is  good  to  suffer  when  one  is  strong," 
and  he  therefore  loves  to  encounter  hindrances. 
"Everything  great  is  good,  and  the  extremity  of  pain  bor- 
ders on  enfranchisement.  The  only  thing  that  crushes 
irremediably,  the  only  thing  that  destroys  the  soul,  is 
mediocrity  of  pain  and  joy."  He  gradually  learns  to 
recognize  his  enemy,  his  own  impetuosity;  he  learns  to 
be  just;  he  begins  to  understand  himself  and  the  world. 
The  nature  of  passion  becomes  clear  to  him.  He  real- 
izes that  the  hostility  he  encounters  is  aimed,  not  at  him 


JEAN  CHRISTOPHE  193 

personally,  but  at  the  eternal  powers  goading  him  on ;  he 
learns  to  love  his  enemies  because  they  have  helped  him 
to  find  himself,  and  because  they  march  towards  the  same 
goal  by  other  roads.  The  years  of  apprenticeship  have 
come  to  an  end.  As  Schiller  admirably  puts  it  in 
the  above-quoted  letter  to  Goetlie:  "Years  of  appren- 
ticeship are  a  relative  concept.  They  imply  their  cor- 
relative, which  is  mastery.  The  idea  of  mastery  is  pre- 
supposed to  elucidate  and  ground  the  idea  of  apprentice- 
ship." Jean  Christophe,  in  riper  years,  begins  to  see 
that  through  all  his  transformations  he  has  by  degrees  be- 
come more  truly  himself.  Preconceptions  have  been 
cast  aside;  he  has  been  freed  from  beliefs  and  illusions, 
freed  from  the  prejudices  of  race  and  nationality.  He 
is  free  and  yet  pious,  now  that  he  grasps  the  meaning  of 
the  path  he  has  to  tread.  In  the  frank  and  noisy  opti- 
mism of  youth,  he  had  exclaimed,  "What  is  life?  A 
tragedy.  Hurrah!"  Now,  "transfigure  par  la  foi,"  this 
optimism  has  been  transformed  into  a  gentle,  all-em- 
bracing wisdom.  His  freethinker's  confessions  runs: 
"To  serve  God  and  to  love  God,  signifies  to  serve  life  and 
to  love  life."  He  hears  the  footsteps  of  coming  genera- 
tions. Even  in  those  who  are  hostile  to  him  he  salutes 
the  undying  spirit  of  life.  He  sees  his  fame  growing  like 
a  great  cathedral,  and  feels  it  be  to  something  remote 
from  himself.  He  who  was  an  aimless  stormer,  is  now 
a  leader;  but  his  own  goal  does  not  become  clear  to  him 
until  the  sonorous  waves  of  death  encompass  him,  and  he 
floats  away  into  the  vast  ocean  of  music,  into  eternal 
peace.  .  ' 


194  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

What  makes  Jean  Christophe's  struggle  supremely 
heroic  is  that  he  aspires  solely  towards  the  greatest,  to- 
wards life  as  a  whole.  This  striving  man  has  to  upbuild 
everything  for  himself;  his  art,  his  freedom,  his  faith,  his 
God,  his  truth.  He  has  to  fight  himself  free  from  every- 
thing which  others  have  taught  him;  from  all  the  fellow- 
ships of  art,  nationality,  race,  and  creed.  His  ardor 
never  wrestles  for  any  personal  end,  for  success  or  for 
pleasure.  "II  n'y  a  aucun  rapport  entre  la  passion  et 
le  plaisir."  Jean  Christophe's  loneliness  makes  this 
struggle  tragical.  It  is  not  on  his  own  behalf  that  he 
troubles  to  attain  to  truth,  for  he  knows  that  every  man 
has  his  own  truth.  When,  nevertheless,  he  becomes  a 
helper  of  mankind,  this  is  not  by  words,  but  by  his  own 
essential  nature,  which  exercises  a  marvelously  harmon- 
izing influence  in  virtue  of  his  vigorous  goodness.  Who- 
ever comes  into  contact  with  him — the  imaginary  person- 
alities in  the  book,  and  no  less  the  real  human  beings  who 
read  the  book — is  the  better  for  having  known  him. 
The  power  through  which  he  conquers  is  that  of  the  life 
which  we  all  share.  And  inasmuch  as  we  love  him,  we 
grow  enabled  to  cherish  an  ardent  love  for  the  world 
of  mankind. 


CHAPTER  IX 

OLIVIER 

JEAN  CHRISTOPHE  is  the  portrait  of  an  artist. 
But  every  form  and  every  formula  of  art  and  the 
artist  must  necessarily  be  one-sided.  RoUand, 
therefore,  introduces  to  Christophe  in  mid  career,  "nel 
mezzo  del  cammin,"  a  counterpart,  a  Frenchman  as  foil 
to  the  German,  a  hero  of  thought  as  contrast  to  the  hero 
of  action.  Jean  Christophe  and  Olivier  are  comple- 
mentary figures,  attracting  one  another  in  virtue  of  the 
law  of  polarity.  "They  were  very  different  each  from 
the  other,  and  they  loved  one  another  on  account  of  this 
difference,  being  of  the  same  species" — the  noblest. 
Olivier  is  the  essence  of  spiritual  France,  just  as  Jean 
Christophe  is  the  offspring  of  the  best  energies  of  Ger- 
many; they  are  ideals,  alike  fashioned  in  the  form  of 
the  highest  ideal;  alternating  like  major  and  minor,  they 
transpose  the  theme  of  art  and  life  into  the  most  wonder- 
ful variations. 

In  externals  the  contrast  between  them  is  marked,  both 
in  respect  of  physical  characteristics  and  social  origins. 
Olivier  is  slightly  built,  pale  and  delicate.  Whereas 
Jean  Christophe  springs  from  working  folk,  Olivier  de- 
rives from  an  old  and  somewhat  effete  bourgeois  stock, 

195 


196  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

and  despite  all  his  ardor  he  has  an  aristocratic  aloofness 
from  vulgar  things.  His  vitality  does  not  come  like  that 
of  his  robust  comrade  from  excess  of  bodily  energy,  from 
muscles  and  blood,  but  from  nerves  and  brain,  from  will 
and  passion.  He  is  receptive  rather  than  productive. 
"He  was  ivy,  a  gentle  soul  which  must  always  love  and 
be  loved."  Art  is  for  him  a  refuge  from  reality,  whereas 
Jean  Christophe  flings  himself  upon  art  to  find  in  it  life 
many  times  multiplied.  In  Schiller's  sense  of  the  terms, 
Olivier  is  the  sentimental  artist,  whilst  his  German 
brother  is  the  naive  genius.  Olivier  represents  the 
beauty  of  a  civilization;  he  is  symbolic  of  "la  vaste 
culture  et  le  genie  psychologique  de  la  France";  Jean 
Christophe  is  the  very  luxuriance  of  nature.  The 
Frenchman  represents  contemplation;  the  German,  ac- 
tion. The  former  reflects  by  many  facets;  the  latter  has 
the  genius  which  shines  by  its  own  light.  Olivier  "trans- 
fers to  the  sphere  of  thought  all  the  energies  that  he  has 
drawn  from  action,"  producing  ideas  where  Christophe 
radiates  vitality,  and  wishing  to  improve,  not  the  world, 
but  himself.  It  suffices  him  to  fight  out  within  himself 
the  eternal  struggle  of  responsibility.  He  contemplates 
unmoved  the  play  of  secular  forces,  looking  on  with  the 
skeptical  smile  of  his  teacher  Renan,  as  one  who  knows 
in  advance  that  the  perpetual  return  of  evil  is  inevitable, 
that  nothing  can  avert  the  eternal  victory  of  injustice  and 
wrong.  His  love,  therefore,  goes  out  to  humanity,  the 
abstract  idea,  and  not  to  actual  men,  the  unsatisfactory 
realizations  of  that  idea. 

At  first  we  incline  to  regard  him  as  a  weakling,  as 


OLIVIER  197 

timid  and  inactive.  Such  is  the  view  taken  at  the  outset 
by  his  forceful  friend,  who  says  almost  angrily:  "Are 
you  incapable  of  feeling  hatred?"  Olivier  answers  with 
a  smile:  "I  hate  hatred.  It  is  repulsive  to  me  that  I 
should  struggle  with  people  whom  I  despise."  He  does 
not  enter  into  treaties  with  reality;  his  strength  lies  in 
isolation.  No  defeat  can  daunt  him,  and  no  victory  can 
persuade  him:  he  knows  that  force  rules  the  world,  but 
he  refuses  to  recognize  the  victor.  Jean  Christophe, 
fired  by  Teutonic  pagan  wrath,  rushes  at  obstacles  and 
stamps  them  underfoot;  Olivier  knows  that  next  day  the 
weeds  that  have  been  trodden  to  the  earth  will  spring 
up  again.     He  does  not  love  struggle  for  its  own  sake.  y 

When  he  avoids  struggle,  this  is  not  because  he  fears  de- 
feat, but  because  victory  is  indifferent  to  him.  A  free- 
thinker, he  is  in  truth  animated  by  the  spirit  of  Chris- 
tianity. "I  should  run  the  risk  of  disturbing  my  soul's 
peace,  which  is  more  precious  to  me  than  any  victory.  I 
refuse  to  hate.  I  desire  to  be  just  even  to  my  enemies. 
Amid  the  storms  of  passion  I  wish  to  retain  clarity  of 
vision,  that  I  may  understand  everything  and  love  every- 
thing." 

Jean  Christophe  soon  comes  to  recognize  that  Olivier 
is  his  spiritual  brother,  learning  that  the  heroism  of 
thought  is  just  as  great  as  the  heroism  of  action,  that  his 
friend's  idealistic  anarchism  is  no  less  courageous  than 
his  own  primitive  revolt.  In  this  apparent  weakling,  he 
venerates  a  soul  of  steel.  Nothing  can  shake  Olivier, 
nothing  can  confuse  his  serene  intelligence.  Superior 
force  is  no  argument  against  him.     "He  had  an  inde- 


198  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

pendence  of  judgment  which  nothing  could  overcome. 
When  he  loved  anything,  he  loved  it  in  defiance  of  the 
world."  Justice  is  the  only  pole  towards  which  the 
needle  of  his  will  points  unerringly;  justice  is  his  sole 
form  of  fanaticism.  Like  Aert,  his  weaker  prototype, 
he  has  "la  faim  de  justice."  Every  injustice,  even  the 
injustices  of  a  remote  past,  seem  to  him  a  disturbance 
of  the  world  order.  He  belongs,  therefore,  to  no  party; 
he  is  unfailingly  the  advocate  on  behalf  of  all  the  un- 
happy and  all  the  oppressed ;  his  place  is  ever  "with  the 
vanquished";  he  does  not  wish  to  help  the  masses 
socially,  but  to  help  individual  souls,  whereas  Jean 
Christophe  desires  to  conquer  for  all  mankind  every 
paradise  of  art  and  freedom.  For  Olivier  there  is  but 
one  true  freedom,  that  which  comes  from  within,  the 
freedom  which  a  man  must  win  for  himself.  The  illu- 
sion of  the  crowd,  its  eternal  class  struggles  and  national 
struggles  for  power,  distress  him,  but  do  not  arouse  his 
sympathy.  Standing  quite  alone,  he  maintains  his  men- 
tal poise  when  war  between  Germany  and  France  is  immi- 
nent, when  all  are  shaken  in  their  convictions,  and  when 
even  Jean  Christophe  feels  that  he  must  return  home  to 
fight  for  his  fatherland.  "I  love  my  country,"  says  the 
Frenchman  to  his  German  brother.  "I  love  it  just  as 
you  love  yours.  But  am  I  for  this  reason  to  betray  my 
conscience,  to  kill  my  soul?  This  would  signify  the  be- 
trayal of  my  country.  I  belong  to  the  army  of  the 
spirit,  not  to  the  army  of  force."  But  brute  force  takes 
its  revenge  upon  the  man  who  despises  force,  and  he  is 
killed  in  a  chance  medley.     Only  his  ideals,  which  were 


OLIVIER  199 

his  true  life,  survive  him,  to  renew  for  those  of  a  later 
generation  the  mystic  idealism  of  his  faith. 

Marvelously  delineated  is  the  answer  made  by  the 
advocate  of  mental  force  to  the  advocate  of  physical 
force,  by  the  genius  of  the  spirit  to  the  genius  of  action. 
The  two  heroes  are  profoundly  united  in  their  love  for 
art,  in  their  passion  for  freedom,  in  their  need  for  spirit- 
ual purity.  Each  is  "pious  and  free"  in  his  own  sense; 
they  are  brothers  in  that  ultimate  domain  which  Holland 
finely  terms  "the  music  of  the  soul" — in  goodness.  But 
Jean  Christophe's  goodness  is  that  of  instinct;  it  is  ele- 
mental,  therefore,  and  liable  to  be  interrupted  by  pas- 
sionate relapses  into  hate.  Olivier's  goodness,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  intellectual  and  wise,  and  is  tinged  merely 
at  times  by  ironical  skepticism.  But  it  is  this  contrast 
between  them,  it  is  the  fact  that  their  aspirations  towards 
goodness  are  complementary,  which  draws  them  together. 
Christophe's  robust  faith  revives  joy  in  life  for  the  lonely 
Olivier.  Christophe,  in  turn,  learns  justice  from 
Olivier.  The  sage  is  uplifted  by  the  strong,  who  is  him- 
self enlightened  by  the  sage's  clarity.  This  mutual  ex- 
change of  benefits  symbolizes  the  relationship  between 
their  nations.  The  friendship  between  the  two  indi- 
viduals is  designed  to  be  the  prototype  of  a  spiritual  alli- 
ance between  the  brother  peoples.  France  and  Germany 
are  "the  two  pinions  of  the  west."  The  European  spirit 
is  to  soar  freely  above  the  blood-drenched  fields  of  the 
past. 


CHAPTER  X 

GRAZIA 

/     T  EAN  CHRISTOPHE  is  creative  action;  Olivier  is 


J 


j  I  creative  thought;  a  third  form  is  requisite  to  com- 
plete the  cycle  of  existence,  that  of  Grazia,  cre- 
ative being,  who  secures  fulfillment  merely  through  her 
beauty  and  refulgence.  In  her  case  likewise  the  name 
is  symbolic.  Jean  Christophe  Krafft,  the  embodiment 
of  virile  energy,  reencounters,  comparatively  late  in  life, 
Grazia,  who  now  embodies  the  calm  beauty  of  woman- 
hood. Thus  his  impetuous  spirit  is  helped  to  realize  the 
final  harmony. 

Hitherto,  in  his  long  march  towards  peace,  Jean  Chris- 
tophe has  encountered  only  fellow-soldiers  and  enemies. 
In  Grazia  he  comes  for  the  first  time  into  contact  with  a 
human  being  who  is  free  from  nervous  tension,  with  one 
characterized  by  that  serene  concord  which  in  his  music 

v^he  has  unconsciously  been  seeking  for  many  years. 
Grazia  is  not  a  flaming  personality  from  whom  he  him- 
self catches  fire.  The  warmth  of  her  senses  has  long  ere 
this  been  cooled,  through  a  certain  weariness  of  life,  a 
gentle  inertia.  But  in  her,  too,  sounds  that  "music  of 
the  soul";  she  too  is  inspired  with  that  goodness  which 
is  needed  to  attract  Jean  Christophe's  liking.     She  does 

200 


GRAZIA  201 

not  incite  him  to  further  action.  Already,  owing  to  the 
many  stresses  of  his  life,  the  hair  on  his  temples  has  been 
whitened.  She  leads  him  to  repose,  shows  him  "the 
smile  of  the  Italian  skies,"  where  his  unrest,  tending  as 
ever  to  recur,  vanishes  at  length  like  a  cloud  in  the  eve- 
ning air.  The  untamed  amativeness  which  in  the  past 
has  convulsed  his  whole  being,  the  need  for  love  which 
has  flamed  up  with  elemental  force  in  Le  buisson  ardent, 
threatening  to  destroy  his  very  existence,  is  clarified  here 
to  become  the  "suprasensual  marriage"  with  Grazia, 
"the  well-beloved  who  never  dies."  Through  Olivier, 
Jean  Christophe  is  made  lucid;  through  Grazia,  he  is 
made  gentle.  Olivier  reconciled  him  with  the  world; 
Grazia,  with  himself.  Olivier  had  been  Virgil,  guiding 
him  through  purgatorial  fires;  Grazia  is  Beatrice,  point- 
ing towards  the  heaven  of  the  great  harmony.  Never 
was  there  a  nobler  symbolization  of  the  European  triad ; 
the  restrained  fierceness  of  Germany;  the  clarity  of 
France;  the  gentle  beauty  of  the  Italian  spirit.  Jean 
Christophe's  life  melody  is  resolved  in  this  triad ;  he  has 
now  been  granted  the  citizenship  of  the  world,  is  at  home 
in  all  feelings,  lands,  and  tongues,  and  can  face  death  in 
the  ultimate  unity  of  life. 

Grazia,  "la  linda"  (the  limpid),  is  one  of  the  most 
tranquil  figures  in  the  book.  We  seem  barely  aware  of 
her  passage  through  the  agitated  worlds,  but  her  soft 
Mona  Lisa  smile  streams  like  a  beam  of  light  athwart  the 
animated  space.  Had  she  been  absent,  there  would  have 
been  lacking  to  the  work  and  to  the  man  the  magic  of 
"the  eternal  feminine,"  the  solution  of  the  ultimate  rid- 


202  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

die.  When  she  vanishes,  her  radiance  still  lingers,  fill- 
ing this  book  of  exuberance  and  struggle  with  a  soft 
lyrical  melancholy,  and  transfusing  it  with  a  new  beauty, 
that  of  peace. 


CHAPTER  XI 

JEAN   CHRISTOPHE  AND   HIS  FELLOW  MEN 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  intimate  relationships 
described  in  the  previous  chapters,  the  path  of 
Jean  Christophe  the  artist  is  a  lonely  one.     He 
walks  by  himself,  pursuing  an  isolated  course  that  leads 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  labyrinth  of  his  own  being. 
The  blood  of  his  fathers  drives  him  along,  out  of  an  infi- 
nite of  confused  origins,  towards  that  other  infinite  of 
creation.     Those  whom  he  encounters  in  his  life's  jour- 
ney are  no  more  than  shadows  and  intimations,  mile- 
stones of  experience,  steps  of  ascent  and  descent,  epi- 
sodes and  adventures.     But  what  is  knowledge  other  than 
a  sum  of  experiences;  what  is  life  beyond  a  sum  of  en- 
counters?    Other  human  beings  are  not  Jean  Chris- 
tophe's  ,destiny,  but  they  are  material  for  his  creative 
work.     They  are  elements  of  the  infinite,  to  which  he 
feels  himself  akin.     Since  he  wishes  to  live  life  as  a 
whole,  he  must  accept  the  bitterest  part  of  life,  mankind. 
All  he  meets  are  a  help  to  him.     His  friends  help  him 
much;  but  his  enemies  help  him  still  more,  increasing  his 
vitality  and  stimulating  his  energy.     Thus  even  those 
who  wish  to  hinder  his  work,  further  it ;  and  what  is  the 
true  artist  other  than  the  work  upon  which  he  is  engaged? 

203 


204  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

In  the  great  symphony  of  his  passion,  his  fellow  beings 
are  high  and  low  voices  inextricably  interwoven  into 
the  swelling  rhythm.  Many  an  individual  theme  he  dis- 
misses after  a  while  with  indifference,  but  many  another 
he  pursues  to  the  end.  Into  his  childhood's  days  comes 
Gottfried,  the  kindly  old  man,  deriving  more  or  less  from 
the  spirit  of  Tolstoi.  He  appears  quite  incidentally, 
never  for  more  than  a  night,  shouldering  his  pack,  the 
undying  Ahasuerus,  but  cheerful  and  kindly,  never 
mutinous,  never  complaining,  bowed  but  splendidly  un- 
flinching, as  he  wends  his  way  Godward.  Only  in  pass- 
ing does  he  touch  Christophe's  life,  but  this  transient  con- 
tact suffices  to  set  the  creative  spirit  in  movement.  Con- 
sider, again,  Hassler,  the  composer.  His  face  flashes 
upon  Jean  Christophe,  a  lightning  glimpse,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  young  man's  work;  but,  in  this  instant, 
Jean  Christophe  recognizes  the  danger  that  he  may  come 
to  resemble  Hassler  through  indolence,  and  he  collects 
his  forces.  Intimations,  appeals,  signs — such  are  other 
men  to  him.  Every  one  acts  as  a  stimulus,  some  through 
love,  some  through  hatred.  Old  Schulz,  with  sympa- 
thetic understanding,  helps  him  in  a  moment  of  despair. 
The  family  pride  of  Frau  von  Kerich  and  the  stupidity  of 
the  Gothamites  drive  him  anew  to  despair,  which  cul- 
minates this  time  in  flight,  and  thus  proves  his  salvation. 
Poison  and  antidote  have  a  terrible  resemblance.  But 
to  his  creative  spirit  nothing  is  unmeaning,  for  he  stamps 
his  own  significance  upon  all,  sweeping  into  the  current 
of  his  life  the  very  things  which  were  imposing  them- 
§elves  as  hindrances  to  the  stream.     Suff'ering  is  need- 


CHRISTOPHE  AND  HIS  FELLOW  MEN     205 

ful  to  him  for  the  knowledge  it  brings.  He  draws  liis 
best  forces  out  of  sadness,  out  of  the  shocks  of  life. 
Designedly  does  Holland  make  Jean  Christophe  conceive 
the  most  beautiful  of  his  imaginative  works  during  the 
times  of  his  profoundest  spiritual  distresses,  during  the 
days  after  the  death  of  Olivier,  and  during  those  which 
followed  the  departure  of  Grazia.  Opposition  and  afflic- 
tion, the  foes  of  the  ordinary  man,  are  friends  to  the 
artist,  just  as  much  as  is  every  experience  in  his  career. 
Precisely  for  his  profoundest  creative  solitude,  he  re- 
quires the  influences  which  emanate  from  his  fellows. 

It  is  true  that  he  takes  long  to  learn  this  lesson,  judg- 
ing men  falsely  at  first  because  he  sees  them  tempera- 
mently,  not  knowledgeably.  To  begin  with,  Jean  Chris- 
tophe colors  all  human  beings  with  his  own  overflowing 
enthusiasm,  fancying  them  to  be  as  upright  and  good- 
natured  as  he  is  himself,  to  speak  no  less  frankly  and 
spontaneously  than  he  himself  speaks.  Then,  after  the 
first  disillusionments,  his  views  are  falsified  in  the  oppo- 
site direction  by  bitterness  and  mistrust.  But  gradu- 
ally he  learns  to  hold  just  measure  between  overvalua- 
tion and  its  opposite.  Helped  towards  justice  by  Olivier, 
guided  to  gentleness  by  Grazia,  gathering  experience 
from  life,  he  comes  to  understand,  not  himself  alone, 
but  his  foes  likewise.  Almost  at  the  end  of  the  book  we 
find  a  little  scene  which  may  seem  at  first  sight  insignifi- 
cant. Jean  Christophe  comes  across  his  sometime 
enemy,  Levy-Coeur,  and  spontaneously  offers  his  hand. 
This  reconciliation  implies  something  more  than  tran- 
sient sympathy.     It  expresses  the  meaning  of  the  long 


206  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

pilgrimage.  It  leads  us  to  his  last  confession,  which 
runs  as  follows,  with  a  slight  alteration  from  his  old 
description  of  true  heroism:  "To  know  men,  and  yet  to 
love  them." 


CHAPTER  XII 

JEAN   CHRISTOPHE    AND    THE   NATIONS 

YOUNG  Headstrong,  looking  upon  his  fellow  men 
with  passion  and  prejudice,  fails  to  understand 
their  natures;  at  first  he  contemplates  the 
families  of  mankind,  the  nations,  with  like  passion  and 
prejudice.  It  is  a  part  of  our  ine^table  destiny  that  to 
begin  with,  and  for  many  of  us  throughout  life,  we  know 
our  own  land  from  within  only,  foreign  lands  only  from 
without.  Not  until  we  have  learned  to  see  our  own  coun- 
try from  without,  and  to  understand  foreign  countries 
from  within  as  the  natives  of  these  countries  understand 
them,  can  we  acquire  a  European  outlook,  can  we  realize 
that  these  various  countries  are  complementary  parts  of 
a  single  whole.  Jean  Christophe  fights  for  life  in  its 
entirety.  For  this  reason  he  must  pursue  the  path  by 
which  the  nationalist  becomes  a  citizen  of  the  world  and 
acquires  a  "European  soul." 

As  must  happen,  Jean  Christophe  begins  with  preju- 
dice. At  first  he  overvalues  France.  Ideas  have  been 
impressed  upon  his  mind  concerning  the  artistic,  cheer- 
ful, liberal-spirited  French,  and  he  regards  his  own  Ger- 
many as  a  land  full  of  restriction.     His  first  sight  of 

Paris  brings  disillusionment;  he  can  see  nothing  but  lies, 

207 


208  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

clamor,  and  cheating.  By  degrees,  however,  he  dis- 
covers that  the  soul  of  a  nation  is  not  an  obvious  and 
superficial  thing,  like  a  paving-stone  in  the  street,  but 
that  the  observer  of  a  foreign  people  must  dig  his  way 
to  that  soul  through  a  thick  stratum  of  illusion  and  false- 
hood. Ere  long  he  weans  himself  of  the  habit  which 
leads  people  to  talk  of  the  French,  the  Italians,  the  Jews, 
the  Germans,  as  if  members  of  these  respective  nations 
or  races  were  all  of  a  piece,  to  be  classified  and  docketed 
in  so  simple  a  fashion.  Each  people  has  its  own  meas- 
ure, its  own  form,  customs,  failings,  and  lies;  just  as 
each  has  its  own  climate,  history,  skies,  and  race;  and 
these  things  cannot  be  easily  summarized  in  a  phrase 
or  two.  As  with  all  experience,  our  experiences  of  a 
country  must  be  built  up  from  within.  With  words 
alone  we  can  build  nothing  but  a  house  of  cards. 
"Truth  is  the  same  to  all  nations,  but  each  nation  has  its 
own  lies  which  it  speaks  of  as  its  idealism.  Every  mem- 
ber of  each  nation  inhales  the  appropriate  atmosphere 
of  lying  idealism  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  until  it 
becomes  the  very  breath  of  his  life.  None  but  isolated 
geniuses  can  free  themselves  by  heroic  struggle,  during 
which  they  stand  alone  in  the  free  universe  of  their  own 
thought."  We  must  free  ourselves  from  prejudice  if  we 
are  to  judge  freely.  There  is  no  other  formula;  there 
are  no  other  psychological  prescriptions.  As  with  all 
creative  work,  we  must  permeate  the  material  with  which 
we  have  to  deal,  must  yield  ourselves  without  reserve. 
In  the  case  of  nations  as  in  the  case  of  individual  men, 
he    who    would    know    them    will    find    that    there    is 


CHRISTOPHE  AND  THE  NATIONS       209 

but  one  science,  that  of  the  heart  and  not  of  books. 
Nothing  but  such  mutual  understanding  passing  from 
soul  to  soul  can  weld  the  nations  together.  What  keeps 
them  asunder  is  misunderstanding,  the  way  those  of  each 
nation  hold  their  own  beliefs  to  be  the  only  right  ones, 
look  upon  their  own  natures  as  the  only  good  ones.  The 
mischief  lies  in  the  arrogance  of  persons  who  believe 
that  all  others  are  wrong.  Nation  is  estranged  from  na^ 
tion  by  the  collective  conceit  of  the  members  of  each 
nation,  by  ihe  "great  European  plague  of  national 
pride"  which  Nietzsche  termed  "the  malady  of  the  cen- 
tury." They  stand  like  trees  in  a  forest,  each  stem  prid- 
ing itself  on  its  isolation,  though  the  roots  interlace 
underground  and  the  summits  touch  overhead.  The 
common  people,  the  proletariat,  living  in  the  depths, 
universally  human  in  its  feelings,  know  naught  of  na- 
tional contrasts.  Jean  Christophe,  making  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Sidonie,  the  Breton  maidservant,  recognizes 
with  astonishment  "how  closely  she  resembles  respect- 
able folk  in  Germany."  Look  again  at  the  summits, 
at  the  elite.  Olivier  and  Grazia  have  long  been  living 
in  that  lofty  sphere  known  to  Goethe  "in  which  we  feel 
the  fate  of  foreign  nations  just  as  we  feel  our  own." 
Fellowship  is  a  truth;  mutual  hatred  is  a  falsehood; 
justice  is  the  only  real  tie  linking  men  and  linking  na- 
tions. "All  of  us,  all  nations,  are  debtors  one  to  an- 
other. Let  us,  then,  pay  our  debts  and  do  our  duty 
together."  Jean  Christophe  has  suffered  at  the  hands  of 
every  nation,  and  has  received  gifts  from  every  nation; 
disillusioned  by  all,  he  has  also  been  benej&ted  by  all. 


210  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

To  the  citizen  of  the  world,  at  the  end  of  his  pilgrim- 
age, all  nations  are  alike.  In  each  his  soul  can  make 
itself  at  home.  The  musician  in  him  dreams  of  a  sub- 
lime work,  of  the  great  European  symphony,  wherein 
the  voices  of  the  peoples,  resolving  discords,  will  rise 
in  the  last  and  highest  harmony,  the  harmony  of  man- 
kind. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   PICTURE   OF  FRANCE 

THE  picture  of  France  in  the  great  romance  is 
notable  because  we  are  here  shown  a  country 
from  a  twofold  outlook,  from  without  and  from 
within,  from  the  perspective  of  a  German  and  with  the 
eyes  of  a  Frenchman.  It  is  likewise  notable  because 
Christophe's  judgment  is  not  merely  that  of  one  who 
sees,  but  that  of  one  who  learns  in  seeing. 

In  every  respect,  the  German's  thought  process  is  in- 
tentionally presented  in  a  typical  form.  In  his  little 
native  town  he  had  never  known  a  Frenchman.  His 
feelings  towards  the  French,  of  whom  he  had  no  con- 
crete experience  whatever,  took  the  form  of  a  genial,  but 
somewhat  contemptuous,  sympathy.  "The  French  are 
good  fellows,  but  rather  a  slack  lot,"  would  seem  to  sum 
up  his  German  prejudice.  They  are  a  nation  of  spine- 
less artists,  bad  soldiers,  corrupt  politicians,  women  of 
easy  virtue;  but  they  are  clever,  amusing,  and  liberal- 
minded.  Amid  the  order  and  sobriety  of  German  life, 
he  feels  a  certain  yearning  towards  the  democratic  free- 
dom of  France.  His  first  encounter  with  a  French  ac- 
tress, Corinne,  akin  to  Goethe's  Philine,  seems  to  con- 
j&rm  this  facile  judgment;   but  soon,  when  he  meets 

211 


212  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Antoinette,  he  comes  to  realize  the  existence  of  another 
France.  "You  are  so  serious,"  he  says  with  astonish- 
ment to  the  demure,  tongue-tied  girl,  who  in  this  foreign 
land  is  hard  at  work  as  a  teacher  in  a  pretentious,  parvenu 
household.  Her  characteristics  are  not  in  keeping  with 
his  traditional  prejudices.  A  Frenchwoman  ought  to 
be  trivial,  saucy,  and  wanton.  For  the  first  time  France 
presents  to  him  "the  riddle  of  its  twofold  nature."  This 
initial  appeal  from  the  distance  exercises  a  mysterious 
lure.  He  begins  to  realize  the  infinite  multiplicity  of 
these  foreign  worlds.  Like  Gluck,  Wagner,  Meyerbeer, 
and  Offenbach,  he  takes  refuge  from  the  narrowness  of 
German  provincial  life,  and  flees  to  Paris,  the  fabled 
home  of  universal  art. 

His  feeling  on  arrival  is  one  of  disorder,  and  this  im- 
pression never  leaves  him.  The  first  and  last  impres- 
sion, the  strongest  impression,  to  which  the  German  in 
him  continually  returns,  is  that  powerful  energies  are 
being  squandered  through  lack  of  discipline.  His  first 
guide  in  the  fair  is  one  of  those  spurious  "real  Pari- 
sians," one  of  the  immigrants  who  are  more  Parisian 
in  their  manners  than  those  who  are  Parisian  by  birth,  a 
Jew  of  German  extraction  named  Sylvain  Kohn,  who 
here  passes  by  the  name  of  Hamilton,  and  in  whose  hands 
all  the  threads  of  the  trade  in  art  are  centered.  He 
shows  Jean  Christophe  the  painters,  the  musicians,  the 
politicians,  the  journalists;  and  Jean  Christophe  turns 
away  disheartened.  It  seems  to  him  that  all  their  works 
exhale  an  unpleasant  "odor  femininus,"  an  oppressive 
atmosphere  laden  with  scent.     He  sees  praises  showered 


THE  PICTURE  OF  FRANCE  213 

upon  second-rate  persons,  hears  a  clamor  of  apprecia- 
tion, without  discovering  a  single  genuine  work  of  art.  ^d 
There  is  indeed  art  of  a  kind  amid  the  medley,  but  it  is 
over-refined  and  decadent;  the  work  of  taste  and  not  of 
power;  lacking  integration  through  excess  of  irony;  an 
Alexandrian-Greek  literature  and  music;  the  breath  of  a 
moribund  nation;  the  hothouse  blossom  of  a  perishing 
civilization.  He  sees  an  end,  but  no  beginning.  The 
German  in  him  already  hears  "the  rumbling  of  the  can- 
non" which  will  destroy  this  enfeebled  Greece. 

He  learns  to  know  good  men  and  bad;  many  of  them 
are  vain  and  stupid,  dull  and  soulless;  not  one  does  he 
meet,  in  his  experience  of  social  life  in  Paris,  who  gives 
him  confidence  in  France.  The  first  messenger  comes 
from  a  distance;  this  is  Sidonie,  the  peasant  girl  who 
tends  him  during  his  illness.  He  learns,  all  at  once, 
how  calm  and  inviolable,  how  fertile  and  strong,  is  the 
earth,  the  humus,  out  of  which  the  Parisian  exotics  suck 
their  energies.  He  becomes  acquainted  with  the  people, 
the  robust  and  serious-minded  French  people,  which  tills 
the  land,  caring  naught  for  the  noise  of  the  great  fair, 
the  people  which  has  made  revolutions  with  the  might 
of  its  wrath  and  has  waged  the  Napoleonic  wars  with  its 
enthusiasm.  From  this  moment  he  feels  there  must  be 
a  real  France  still  unknown  to  him.  In  conversation 
with  Sylvain  Kohn,  he  asks,  "Where  can  I  find  France?" 
Kohn  answers  grandiloquently,  "We  are  France!"  Jean 
Christophe  smiles  bitterly,  knowing  well  that  he  will 
have  a  long  search.  Those  among  whom  he  is  now  mov- 
ing have  hidden  France. 


214  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

At  length  comes  the  rencounter  which  is  a  turning- 
point  in  his  fate;  he  meets  Olivier,  Antoinette's  brother, 
the  true  Frenchman.  Just  as  Dante,  guided  by  Virgil, 
wanders  through  new  and  ever  new  circles  of  knowledge, 
so  Jean  Christophe,  led  by  Olivier,  learns  with  astonish- 
ment that  behind  this  veil  of  noise,  behind  this  clamorous 
fagade,  an  elite  is  quietly  laboring.  He  sees  the  work  of 
persons  whose  names  are  never  printed  in  the  newspa- 
pers; sees  the  people,  those  who,  remote  from  the  hurly- 
burly,  tranquilly  pursue  their  daily  round.  He  learns 
to  know  the  new  idealism  of  the  France  whose  soul  has 
been  strengthened  by  defeat.  At  first  this  discovery  fills 
him  with  rage.  "I  cannot  understand  you  all,"  he  cries 
to  the  gentle  Olivier.  "You  live  in  the  most  beautiful 
of  countries,  are  marvelously  gifted,  are  endowed  with 
the  highest  human  sensibilities,  and  yet  you  fail  to  turn 
these  advantages  to  account.  You  allow  yourselves  to 
be  dominated  and  to  be  trampled  upon  by  a  handful  of 
rascals.  Rouse  yourselves;  get  together;  sweep  your 
house  clean!"  The  first  and  most  natural  thought  of 
the  German  is  for  organization,  for  the  drawing  together 
of  the  good  elements;  the  first  thought  of  the  strong 
man  is  to  fight.  Yet  the  best  in  France  insist  on  holding 
aloof,  some  of  them  content  with  a  mysterious  clarity  of 
vision,  and  others  giving  themselves  up  to  a  facile  resig- 
nation. With  that  tincture  of  pessimism  in  their  sagacity 
to  which  Renan  has  given  such  lucid  expression,  they 
shrink  from  the  struggle.  Action  is  uncongenial  to 
them,  and  the  hardest  thing  of  all  is  to  combine  them 
for  joint  action.     "They  are  over  cautious,  and  visualize 


THE  PICTURE  OF  FRANCE  215 

defeat  before  the  battle  begins."  Lacking  the  optimism 
of  the  Germans,  they  remain  isolated  individuals,  some 
from  prudence,  others  from  pride.  They  seem  to  be 
affected  with  a  spirit  of  exclusiveness,  the  operation  of 
which  Jean  Christophe  is  able  to  study  in  his  own  dwell- 
ing. On  each  story  there  live  excellent  persons  who 
could  combine  well,  but  they  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  one  another.  For  twenty  years  they  pass  on  the 
staircase  without  becoming  acquainted,  without  the  least 
concern  about  one  another's  lives.  Thus  the  best  among 
the  artists  remain  strangers. 

Jean  Christophe  suddenly  comes  to  realize  with  all  its 
merits  and  defects  the  essential  characteristic  of  the 
French  people,  the  desire  for  liberty.  Each  one  wishes 
to  be  free  for  himself,  free  from  ties.  They  waste  enor- 
mous quantities  of  energy  because  each  tries  to  wage 
the  time  struggle  unaided,  because  they  will  not  permit 
themselves  to  be  organized,  because  they  refuse  to  pull 
together  in  harness.  Although  their  activities  are  thus 
paralyzed  by  their  reason,  their  minds  nevertheless  re- 
main free.  Consequently  they  are  enabled  to  permeate 
every  revolutionary  movement  with  the  religious  fervor 
of  the  solitary,  and  they  can  perpetually  renew  their  own 
revolutionary  faith.  These  things  are  their  salvation, 
preserving  them  from  an  order  which  would  be  unduly 
rigid,  from  a  mechanical  system  which  would  impose 
excessive  uniformity.  Jean  Christophe  at  length  un- 
derstands that  the  noisy  fair  exists  only  to  attract  the  un- 
thinking, and  to  preserve  a  creative  solitude  for  the  really 
active  spirits.     He  sees  that  for  the  French  temperament 


216  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

this  clamor  is  indispensable,  is  a  means  by  which  the 
French  fire  one  another  to  labor;  he  sees  that  the  appar- 
ent inconsequence  of  their  thoughts  is  a  rhythmical  form 
of  continuous  renewal.  His  first  impression,  like  that 
of  so  many  Germans,  had  been  that  the  French  are  effete. 
But  after  twenty  years  he  realizes  that  in  truth  they  are 
always  ready  for  new  beginnings,  that  amid  the  appar- 
ent contradictions  of  their  spirit  a  hidden  order  reigns, 
a  different  order  from  that  known  to  the  Germans,  just 
as  their  freedom  is  a  different  freedom.  The  citizen 
of  the  world,  who  no  longer  desires  to  impose  upon  any 
other  nation  the  characteristics  of  his  own,  now  con- 
templates with  delight  the  eternal  diversity  of  the  races. 
As  the  light  of  the  world  is  composed  of  the  seven  colors 
of  the  spectrum,  so  from  this  racial  diversity  arises  that 
wonderful  multiplicity  in  unity,  the  fellowship  of  all 
mankind. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    PICTURE    OF   GERMANY 

IN  this  romance,  Germany  likewise  is  viewed  in  a 
twofold  aspect;  but  whereas  France  is  seen  first 
from  without,  with  the  eyes  of  a  German,  and  then 
from  within,  with  the  eyes  of  a  Frenchman,  Germany  is 
first  viewed  from  within  and  then  regarded  from  abroad. 
Moreover,  just  a's  happened  in  the  case  of  France,  two 
worlds  are  imperceptibly  superimposed  one  upon  the 
other;  a  clamant  civilization  and  a  silent  one,  a  false 
culture  and  a  true.  We  see  respectively  the  old  Ger- 
many, which  sought  its  heroism  in  the  things  of  the 
spirit,  discovered  its  profundity  in  truth;  and  the  new 
Germany,  intoxicated  with  its  own  strength,  grasping  at 
the  powers  of  the  reason  which  as  a  philosophical  disci- 
pline had  transformed  the  world,  and  perverting  them 
to  the  uses  of  business  eflRciency.  It  is  not  suggested 
that  German  idealism  had  become  extinct;  that  there  no 
longer  existed  the  belief  in  a  purer  and  more  beautiful 
world  freed  from  the  compromises  of  our  earthly  lot. 
The  trouble  rather  was  that  this  idealism  had  been  too 
widely  diffused,  had  been  generalized  until  it  had  grown 
thin  and  superficial.     The  German  faith  in  God,  turning 

practical,  and  now  directed  towards  mundane  ends,  had 

217 


218  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

been  transformed  into  grandiose  ideas  of  the  national 
future.  In  art,  it  had  been  sentimentalized.  In  its  new 
manifestations,  it  was  signally  displayed  in  the  cheap 
optimism  of  Emperor  William.  The  defeat  which  had 
spiritualized  French  idealism,  had,  from  the  German 
side,  as  a  victory,  materialized  German  idealism. 
"What  has  victorious  Germany  given  to  the  world?" 
asks  Jean  Christophe.  He  answers  his  own  question  by 
saying:  "The  flashing  of  bayonets;  vigor  without  mag- 
nanimity; brutal  realism;  force  conjoined  with  greed  for 
profit;  Mars  as  commercial  traveler."  He  is  grieved 
to  recognize  that  Germany  has  been  harmed  by  victory. 
He  suffers;  for  "one  expects  more  of  one's  own  coun- 
try than  of  another,  and  is  hurt  more  by  the  faults  of 
one's  own  land."  Ever  the  revolutionist,  Christophe  de- 
tests noisy  self-assertion,  militarist  arrogance,  the  chur- 
lishness of  caste  feeling.  In  his  conflict  with  militarized 
Germany,  in  his  quarrel  with  the  sergeant  at  the  dance 
in  the  Alsatian  village  inn,  we  have  an  elemental  erup- 
tion of  the  hatred  for  discipline  felt  by  the  artist,  the 
lover  of  freedom ;  we  have  his  protest  against  the  brutal- 
ization  of  thought.  He  is  compelled  to  shake  the  dust  of 
Germany  off"  his  feet. 

When  he  reaches  France,  however,  he  begins  to  realize 
Germany's  greatness.  "In  a  foreign  environment  his 
judgment  was  freed" ;  this  statement  applies  to  him  as  to 
all  of  us.  Amid  the  disorder  of  France  he  learned  to 
value  the  active  orderliness  of  Germany;  the  skeptical 
resignation  of  the  French  made  him  esteem  the  vigorous 
optimism  of  the  Germans;  he  was  impressed  by  the  con- 


THE  PICTURE  OF  GERMANY  219 

trast  between  a  witty  nation  and  a  thoughtful  one.  Yet 
he  was  under  no  illusions  afboul  the  optimism  of  the  new 
Germany,  perceiving  that  it  is  often  spurious.  He  be- 
came aware  that  the  idealism  often  took  the  form  of 
idealizing  a  dictatorial  will.  Even  in  the  great  masters, 
he  saw,  to  quote  Goethe's  wonderful  phrase,  "how  read- 
ily in  the  Germans  the  ideal  waxes  sentimental."  His 
passionate  sincerity,  grown  pitiless  in  the  atmosphere  of 
French  clarity,  revolts  against  this  hazy  idealism,  which 
compromises  between  truth  and  desire,  which  justifies 
abuses  of  power  with  the  plea  of  civilization,  and  which 
considers  that  might  is  sufficient  warrant  for  victory. 
In  France  he  becomes  aware  of  the  faults  of  France,  in 
Germany  he  realizes  the  faults  of  Germany,  loving  both 
countries  because  they  are  so  different.  Each  suffers 
from  the  defective  distribution  of  its  merits.  In  France, 
liberty  is  too  widely  diffused  and  engenders  chaos, 
while  a  few  individuals  comprising  the  elite  keep  their 
idealism  intact.  In  Germany,  idealism,  permeating  the 
masses,  has  been  sugared  into  sentimentalism  and  wa- 
tered into  a  mercantile  optimism;  and  here  a  still  smaller 
elite  preserves  complete  freedom  aloof  from  the  crowd. 
Each  suffers  from  an  excessive  development  of  national 
peculiarities.  Nationalism,  as  Nietzsche  says,  "has  in 
France  corrupted  character,  and  in  Germany  has  cor- 
rupted spirit  and  taste."  Could  but  the  two  peoples 
draw  together  and  impress  their  best  qualities  upon  one 
another,  they  would  rejoice  to  find,  as  Christophe  him- 
self had  found,  that  "the  richer  he  was  in  German 
dreams,  the  more  precious  to  him  became  the  clarity 


220  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

of  the  Latin  mind."  Olivier  and  Christophe,  forming  a 
pact  of  friendship,  hope  for  the  day  when  their  personal 
sentiments  will  be  perpetuated  in  an  alliance  between 
their  respective  peoples.  In  a  sad  hour  of  international 
dissension,  the  Frenchman  calls  to  the  German  in  words 
still  unfulfilled:  "We  hold  out  our  hands  to  you.  De- 
spite lies  and  hatred,  we  cannot  be  kept  apart.  We 
have  mutual  need  of  one  another,  for  the  greatness  of 
our  spirit  and  of  our  race.  We  are  the  two  pinions  of 
the  west.  Should  one  be  broken,  the  other  is  useless  for 
flight.  Even  if  war  should  come,  this  will  not  unclasp 
our  hands,  nor  will  it  prevent  us  from  soaring  upwards 
together." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    PICTURE    OF    ITALY 

JEAN  CHRISTOPHE  is  growing  old  and  weary 
when  he  comes  to  know  the  third  country  that  will 
form  part  of  the  future  European  synthesis.  He 
had  never  felt  drawn  towards  Italy.  As  had  happened 
many  years  earlier  in  -the  case  of  France,  so  likewise 
in  the  case  of  Italy,  his  sympathies  had  been  chilled  by 
his  acceptance  of  the  disastrous  and  prejudiced  formulas 
by  which  the  nations  impose  barriers  between  themselves 
while  each  extols  its  own  peculiarities  as  peculiarly  right 
and  phenomenally  strong.  Yet  hardly  has  he  been  an 
hour  in  Italy  when  these  prejudices  are  shaken  off  and 
are  replaced  by  enthusiastic  admiration.  He  is  fired  by 
the  unfamiliar  light  of  the  Italian  landscape.  He  be- 
comes aware  of  a  new  rhythm  of  life.  He  does  not  see 
fierce  energy,  as  in  Germany,  or  nervous  mobility  as  in 
France;  but  the  sweetness  of  these  "centuries  of  ancient 
culture  and  civilization"  makes  a  strong  appeal  to  the 
northern  barbarian.  Hitherto  his  gaze  has  always  been 
turned  towards  the  future,  but  now  he  becomes  aware 
of  the  charms  of  the  past.  Whereas  the  Germans  are 
still  in  search  of  the  best  form  of  self-expression;  and 
whereas  the  French  refresh  and  renew  themselves  through 

221 


222  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

incessant  change;  here  he  finds  a  nation  with  a  clear  se- 
quence of  tradition,  a  nation  which  need  merely  be  true 
to  its  own  past  and  to  its  own  landscape,  in  order  to  fulfill 
the  most  perfect  blossoming  of  its  nature,  in  order  to 
realize  beauty. 

It  is  true  that  Christophe  misses  the  element  which 
to  him  is  the  breath  of  life;  he  misses  struggle.  A  gen- 
tle drowsiness  seems  universally  prevalent,  a  pleasant 
fatigue  which  is  debilitating  and  dangerous.  "Rome  is 
too  full  of  tombs,  and  the  city  exhales  death."  The  fire 
kindled  by  Mazzini  and  Garibaldi,  the  flame  in  which 
United  Italy  was  forged,  still  glows  in  isolated  Italian 
souls.  Here,  too,  there  is  idealism.  But  it  differs  from 
the  German  and  from  the  French  idealism;  it  is  not  yet 
directed  towards  the  citizenship  of  the  world,  but  re- 
mains purely  national;  "Italian  idealism  is  concerned 
solely  with  itself,  with  Italian  desires,  with  the  Italian 
race,  with  Italian  renown."  In  the  calm  southern  atmos- 
phere, this  flame  does  not  burn  so  fiercely  as  to  radiate 
a  light  through  Europe;  but  it  burns  brightly  and  beau- 
tifully in  these  young  souls,  which  are  apt  for  all  pas- 
sions, though  the  moment  has  not  yet  come  for  the  intens- 
est  ardors. 

But  as  soon  as  Jean  Christophe  begins  to  love  Italy, 
he  grows  afraid  of  this  love.  He  realizes  that  Italy  is 
also  essential  to  him,  in  order  that  in  his  music  and 
in  his  life  the  impetuosity  of  the  senses  shall  be  clari- 
fied to  a  perfect  harmony.  He  understands  how  neces- 
sary the  southern  world  is  to  the  northern,  and  is  now 
aware  that  only  in  the  trio  of  Germany,  France,  and 


THE  PICTURE  OF  ITALY  223 

Italy  does  the  full  meaning  of  each  voice  become  clear. 
In  Italy,  there  is  less  illusion  and  more  reality;  but 
the  land  is  too  beautiful,  tempting  to  enjoyment  and  kill- 
ing tlie  impulse  towards  action.  Just  as  Germany  finds 
a  danger  in  her  own  idealism,  because  that  idealism  is  \ 
too  widely  disseminated  and  becomes  spurious  in  the  av- 
erage man;  just  as  to  France  her  liberty  proves  disas- 
trous because  it  encourages  in  the  individual  an  idea  of 
/absolute  independence  which  estranges  him  from  the 
community;  so  for  Italy  is  her  beauty  a  danger,  since  it 
makes  her  indolent,  pliable,  and  self-satisfied.  To  every 
nation,  as  to  every  individual,  the  most  personal  of  char- 
acteristics, the  very  things  that  commend  the  nation  or 
the  individual  to  others,  are  dangerous.  It  would  seem, 
therefore,  that  nations  and  individuals  must  seek  salva- 
tion by  combining  as  far  as  possible  with  their  own  op- 
posites.  Thus  will  they  draw  nearer  to  the  highest  ideal, 
that  of  European  unity,  that  of  universal  humanity.  In 
Italy,  as  aforetime  in  France  and  in  Germany,  Jean 
Christophe  redreams  the  dream  which  Holland  at  two- 
and-twenty  had  first  dreamed  on  the  Janiculum.  He 
foresees  the  European  symphony,  which  hitherto  poets 
alone  have  created  in  works  transcending  nationality,  but 
which  the  nations  as  yet  have  failed  to  realize  for  them- 
selves. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   JEWS 

IN  the  three  diversified  nations,  by  each  of  which 
Christophe  is  now  attracted,  now  repelled,  he  finds 
a  unifying  element,  adapted  to  each  nation,  but  not 
completely  merged  therein — the  Jews.  "Do  you  no- 
tice," he  says  on  one  occasion  to  Olivier,  "that  we  are 
always  running  up  against  Jews?  It  might  be  thought 
that  we  draw  them  as  by  a  spell,  for  we  continually  find 
them  in  our  path,  sometimes  as  enemies  and  sometimes 
as  allies."  It  is  true  that  he  encounters  Jews  wherever 
he  goes.  In  his  native  town,  the  first  people  to  give  him 
a  helping  hand  (for  their  own  ends,  of  course)  were  the 
wealthy  Jews  who  ran  "Dionysos";  in  Paris,  Sylvain 
Kohn  had  been  his  mentor,  Levy-Coeur  his  bitterest  foe, 
Weil  and  Mooch  his  most  helpful  friends.  In  like  man- 
ner, Olivier  and  Antoinette  frequently  hold  converse 
with  Jews,  either  on  terms  of  friendship  or  on  terms  of 
enmity.  At  every  cross-roads  to  which  the  artist  comes, 
they  stand  like  signposts  pointing  the  way,  now  towards 
good  and  now  towards  evil. 

Christophe's  first  feeling  is  one  of  hostility.  Al- 
though he  is  too  open-minded  to  entertain  a  sentiment 
of  hatred  for  Jews,  he  has  imbibed  from  his  pious 

224 


THE  JEWS  225 

mother  a  certain  aversion ;  and  sharp-sighted  though  they 
are,  he  questions  their  capacity  for  the  real  understand- 
ing of  his  work.     But  again  and  again  it  becomes  ap- 
parent to  him  that  they  are  the  only  persons  really  con-  .,v*-^*^  '  ^ 
cerned  about  his  work  at  all,  the  only  ones  who  value  \    c-r^''^    ^J^''' 
innovation  for  its  own  sake.                                                         ^ 

Olivier,  the  clearer-minded  of  the  two,  is  able  to  ex- 
plain matters  to  Christophe,  showing  that  the  Jews,  cut  ^ 
off  from  tradition,  are  unconsciously  the  pioneers  of               oj/V^    a  j 
every  innovation  which  attacks  tradition;  these  people                 '     ^ 
v/ithout  a  country  are  the  best  assistants  in  the  campaign 
against  nationalism.     "In  France,  the  Jews  are  almost 
the  only  persons  with  whom  a  free  man  can  discuss 
something  novel,  something  that  is  really  alive.     The  ' 
others  take  their  stand  upon  the  past,  are  firmly  rooted      "^ 
in  dead  things.     Of  enormous  importance  is  it  that  this  i 
traditional  past  does  not  exist  for  the  Jews;  or  that  in  so 
far  as  it  exists,  it  is  a  different  past  from  ours.     The 
result  is  that  we  can  talk  to  Jews  about  to-day,  whereas 
with  those  of  our  own  race  we  can  speak  only  of  yes- 
terday ...  I  do  not  wish  to  imply  that  I  invariably  find 
their  doings  agreeable.     Often  enough,  I  consider  these 
doings  actually  repulsive.     But  at  least  they  live,  and 
Qcnow  how  to  value  what  is  alive , ...  In  modern  Eu- 
rope, the  Jews  are  the  principal  agents  alike  of  good 
and  of  evil.     Unwittingly  they  favor  the  germination  of 
the  seed  of  thought.     Is  it  not  among  Jews  that  you 
have  found  your  worst  enemies  and  your  best  friends?" 

Christophe  agrees,  saying:     "It  is  perfectly  true  that 
they  have  encouraged  me  and  helped  me;  that  they  have 


226  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

uttered  words  which  invigorated  me  for  the  struggle, 
showing  me  that  I  was  understood.  Nevertheless,  these 
friends  are  my  friends  no  longer;  their  friendship  was 
but  a  fire  of  straw.  No  matter!  A  passing  sheen  is 
welcome  in  the  night.  You  are  right,  we  must  not  be 
ungrateful." 

He  finds  a  place  for  them,  these  folk  without  a  coun- 
try, in  his  picture  of  the  fatherlands.  He  does  not  fail 
to  see  the  faults  of  the  Jews.  He  realizes  that  for  Eu- 
ropean civilization  they  do  not  form  a  productive  ele- 
ment in  the  highest  sense  of  the  term;  he  perceives  that 
in  essence  their  work  tends  to  promote  analysis  and 
decomposition.  But  this  work  of  decomposition  seems 
to  him  important,  for  the  Jews  undermine  tradition,  the 
hereditary  foe  of  all  that  is  new.  Their  freedom  from 
the  ties  of  country  is  the  gadfly  which  plagues  the  "mangy 
beast  of  nationalism"  until  it  loses  its  intellectual  bear- 
ings. The  decomposition  they  effect  helps  us  to  rid 
ourselves  of  the  dead  past,  of  the  "eternal  yesterday"; 
detachment  from  national  ties  favors  the  growth  of  a 
new  spirit  which  it  is  itself  incompetent  to  produce. 
These  Jews  without  a  country  are  the  best  assistants  of 
the  "good  Europeans"  of  the  future.     In  many  respects 

''  Christophe  is  repelled  by  them.  As  a  man  cherishing 
faith  in  life,  he  dislikes  their  skepticism;  to  his  cheerful 
disposition,  their  irony  is  uncongenial;  himself  striving 
towards  invisible  goals,  he  detests  their  materialism,  their 

^  canon  that  success  must  be  tangible.  Even  the  clever 
Judith  Mannheim,  with  her  "passion  for  intelligence," 
understands  only  his  work,  and  not  the  faith  upon  which 


THE  JEWS  227 

that  work  is  based.  Nevertheless,  the  strong  will  of  the 
Jews  appeals  to  his  own  strength,  their  vitality  to  his 
vigorous  life.  He  sees  in  them  "the  ferment  of  action, 
the  yeast  of  life."  A  homeless  man,  he  finds  himself 
most  intimately  and  most  quickly  understood  by  these 
"sanspatries."  Furthermore,  as  a  free  citizen  of  the 
world,  he  is  competent  to  understand  on  his  side  the 
tragedy  of  their  lives,  cut  adrift  from  everything,  even 
from  themselves.  He  recognizes  that  they  are  useful  as 
means  to  an  end,  although  not  themselves  an  end.  He 
sees  that,  like  all  nations  and  races,  the  Jews  must 
be  harnessed  to  their  contrast.  "These  neurotic  beings 
.  .  .  must  be  subjected  to  a  law  that  will  give  them  sta- 
bility. .  .  .  Jews  are  like  women,  splendid  when  rid- 
den on  the  curb,  though  it  would  be  intolerable  to  be 
ruled  either  by  Jews  or  by  women."  Just  as  little  as 
the  French  spirit  or  the  German  spirit,  is  the  Jewish 
spirit  adapted  for  universal  application.  But  Chris- 
tophe  does  not  wish  the  Jews  to  be  different  from  what 
they  are.  Every  race  is  necessary,  for  its  peculiar  char- 
acteristics are  requisite  for  the  enrichment  of  multi- 
plicity, and  for  the  consequent  enlargement  of  life. 
Jean  Christophe,  now  in  his  later  years  making  peace 
with  the  world,  finds  that  everything  has  its  appointed 
place  in  the  whole  scheme.  Each  strong  tone  contributes 
to  the  great  harmony.  What  may  arouse  hostility  in 
isolation,  serves  to  bind  the  whole  together.  Nay  more, 
it  is  necessary  to  pull  down  the  old  buildings  and  to 
clear  the  ground  before  we  can  begin  to  build  anew;  the 
analytic  spirit  is  the  precondition  of  the  synthetic.     In 


228  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

all  countries  Christophe  acclaims  the  folk  without  a 
country  as  helpers  towards  the  foundation  of  the  uni- 
versal fatherland.  He  accepts  them  all  into  his  dream 
of  the  New  Europe,  whose  still  distant  rhythm  stirs  his 
responsive  yearnings. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

/ 

THE   GENERATIONS  j 

THUS  the  entire  human  herd  is  fanned  within  ring 
after  ring  of  hurdles,  which  he  life-force  must 
break  down  if  it  would  wipto  freedom.  We 
have  the  hurdle  of  the  fatherland,  Viich  shuts  us  away 
from  other  nations;  the  hurdle  of  ,\nguage,  which  im- 
poses its  constraint  upon  our  thought;  the  hurdle  of 
religion,  which  makes  us  unable/to  understand  alien 
creeds;  the  hurdle  of  our  own  naUres,  barring  the  way 
to  reality  by  prejudice  and  false  Laming.  Terrible  are 
the  resulting  isolations.  The  peoples  fail  to  under- 
stand one  another;  the  races,  th^  creeds,  individual  hu- 
man beings,  fail  to  understand  one  another;  they  are 
segregated;  each  group  or  ea^h  individual  has  expe- 
rience of  no  more  than  a  part  of  life,  a  part  of  truth,  a 
part  of  reality,  each  mistakirg  his  part  for  the  whole. 

Even  the  free  man,  "f reec  from  the  illusion  of  father- 
land, creed,  and  race,"  e^en  he,  who  seems  to  have  es- 
caped from  all  the  pens,  is  still  enclosed  within  an  ulti- 
mate ring  of  hurdles.     He  is  confined  within  the  limits' 
of  his  own  generation,  for  generations  are  the  steps  of : 
the  stairway  by  which  humanity  ascends.     Every  genera-/ 
tion  builds  on  the  achievements  of  thosq  that  have  gone 

229 


230  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

^     -       f  before ;  herehere  is  no  possibility  of  retracing  our  f oot- 
k^         I  steps;  each  ^neration  has  its  own  laws,  its  own  form, 
^^'  '  its  own  ethic,  ts  own  inner  meaning.     And  the  tragedy 

^  of  such  compisory  fellowship  arises  out  of  this,  that  a 

generation  dos  not  in  friendly  fashion  accept  the 
achievements  Oiits  predecessors,  does  not  gladly  under- 
take the  develojnent  of  their  acquisitions.  Like  indi- 
vidual human  bings,  like  nations,  the  generations  are 
animated  with  bstile  prejudices  against  their  neigh- 
bors. Here,  likewise,  struggle  and  mistrust  are  the 
abiding  law.  Th  second  generation  rejects  what  the 
first  has  done;  the  deeds  of  the  first  generation  do  not 
secure  approval  u.til  the  third  or  the  fourth  genera- 
!  r  tion.  All  evolution'  akes  place  according  to  what  Goethe 
'  termed  "a  spiral  returrence."  As  we  rise,  we  revolve 
on  narrowing  circles  round  the  same  axis.  Thus  the 
struggle  between  geneation  and  generation  is  unceasing. 
Each  generation  is  perforce  unjust  towards  its  prede- 
cessors. "As  the  geuQ-ations  succeed  one  another,  they 
become  more  strongly  iware  of  the  things  which  divide 
them  than  they  are  of  the  things  which  unite.  They 
feel  impelled  to  affirm  tie  indispensability,  the  impor- 
tance, of  their  own  existence,  even  at  the  cost  of  injus- 
tice or  falsehood  to  themsdves."  Like  individual  hu- 
man beings,  they  have  "an  ege  when  one  must  be  un- 
just if  one  is  to  be  able  to  live."  They  have  to  live  out 
their  own  lives  vigorously,  asserting  their  own  pecul- 
iarities in  respect  of  ideas,  forms,  and  civilization.  It 
is  just  as  little  possible  to  them  to  be  considerate  to- 
wards later  generations,  as  it  has  been  for  earlier  gen- 


THE  GENERATIONS  231 

erations  to  be  considerate  towards  them.  There  pre- 
vails in  this  self-assertion  the  eternal  law  of  the  forest, 
where  the  young  trees  tend  to  push  the  earth  away  from 
the  roots  of  the  older  trees,  and  to  sap  their  strength, 
so  that  the  living  march  over  the  corpses  of  the  dead. 
The  generations  are  at  war,  and  each  individual  is  un- 
wittingly a  champion  on  behalf  of  his  own  era,  even 
though  he  may  feel  himself  out  of  sympathy  with  that 
era. 

Jean  Christophe,  the  young  solitary  in  revolt  against 
his  time,  was  without  knowing  it  the  representative  of 
a  fellowship.  In  and  through  him,  his  generation  de- 
clared war  against  the  dying  generation,  was  unjust  in 
his  injustice,  young  in  his  youth,  passionate  in  his  pas- 
sion. He  grew  old  with  his  generation,  seeing  new 
waves  rising  to  overwhelm  him  and  his  work.  Now, 
having  gained  wisdom,  he  refused  to  be  wroth  with 
those  who  were  wroth  with  him.  He  saw  that  his  ene- 
mies were  displaying  the  injustice  and  the  impetuosity 
which  he  had  himself  displayed  of  yore.  Where  he  had 
fancied  a  mechanical  destiny  to  prevail,  life  had  now 
taught  him  to  see  a  living  flux.  Those  who  in  his  youth 
had  been  fellow  revolutionists,  now  grown  conservative, 
were  fighting  against  the  new  youth  as  they  themselves 
in  youth  had  fought  against  the  old.  Only  the  fighters 
were  new;  the  struggle  was  unchanged.  For  his  part, 
Jean  Christophe  had  a  friendly  smile  for  the  new,  since 
he  loved  life  more  than  he  loved  himself.  Vainly  does 
his  friend  Emmanuel  urge  him  to  defend  himself,  to 
pronounce  a  moral  judgment  upon  a  generation  which 


232  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

declared  valueless  all  the  things  which  they  of  an  earlier 
day  had  acclaimed  as  true  with  the  sacrifice  of  their 
whole  existence.  Christophe  answers:  "What  is  true? 
We  must  not  measure  the  ethic  of  a  generation  with  the 
yardstick  of  an  earlier  time."  Emmanuel  retorts: 
"Why,  then,  did  we  seek  a  measure  for  life,  if  we  were 
not  to  make  it  a  law  for  others?"  Christophe  refers 
him  to  the  perpetual  flux,  saying:  "They  have  learned 
from  us,  and  they  are  ungrateful;  such  is  the  inevitable 
succession  of  events.  Enriched  by  our  efforts,  they  ad- 
vance further  than  we  were  able  to  advance,  realizing 
the  conquests  which  we  struggled  to  achieve.  If  any  of 
the  freshness  of  youth  yet  lingers  in  us,  let  us  leam  from 
them,  and  seek  to  rejuvenate  ourselves.  If  this  is  be- 
yond our  powers,  if  we  are  too  old  to  do  so,  let  us  at 
least  rejoice  that  they  are  young." 

Generations  must  grow  and  die  as  men  grow  and  die. 
Everything  on  earth  is  subject  to  nature's  laws,  and  the 
man  strong  in  faith,  the  pious  freethinker,  bows  himself 
to  the  law.  But  he  does  not  fail  to  recognize  (and 
herein  we  see  one  of  the  profoundest  cultural  acquire- 
ments of  the  book)  that  this  very  flux,  this  transvalua- 
tion  of  values,  has  its  own  secular  rhythm.  In  former 
times,  an  epoch,  a  style,  a  faith,  a  philosophy,  endured 
for  a  century;  now  such  phases  do  not  outlast  a  genera- 
tion, endure  barely  for  a  decade.  The  struggle  ha3 
become  fiercer  and  more  impatient.  Mankind  marches 
to  a  quicker  measure,  digests  ideas  more  rapidly  than 
of  old.  "The  development  of  European  thought  is  pro- 
ceeding at  a  livelier  pace,  much  as  if  its  acceleration 


THE  GENERATIONS  233 

were  concomitant  with  the  advance  in  our  powers  of 
mechanical  locomotion  .  .  .  The  stores  of  prejudices  |  '-51^ 
and  hopes  which  in  former  times  would  have  nourished 
mankind  for  twenty  years,  are  exhausted  now  in  a  lus-     ■ 
trum.     In  intellectual  matters  the   generations  gallop 
one  after  another,  and  sometimes  outspace  one  another." 
The  rhythm  of  these  spiritual  transformations  is  the 
epopee  of  Jean  Christophe.     When  the  hero  returns  to 
Germany  from  Paris,  he  can  hardly  recognize  his  native 
land.     When  from  Italy  he  revisits  Paris,  the  city  seems 
strange  to  him.     Here  and  there  he  still  finds  the  old 
"foire  sur  la  place,"  but  its  affairs  are  transacted  in  a 
new  currency;  it  is  animated  with  a  new  faith;  new 
ideas  are  exchanged  in  the  market  place;  only  the  clamor 
rises  as  of  old.     Between  Olivier  and  his  son  Georges 
lies  an  abyss  like  that  which  separates  two  worlds,  and  j 
Olivier  is  delighted  that  his  son  should  regard  him  with  I 
contempt.     The  abyss  is  an  abyss  of  twenty  years. 

Life  must  eternally  express  itself  in  new  forms;  it 
refuses  to  allow  itself  to  be  dammed  up  by  outworn 
thoughts,  to  be  hemmed  in  by  the  philosophies  and  re- 
ligions of  the  past;  in  its  headstrong  progress  it  sweeps 
accepted  notions  out  of  its  way.  Each  generation  can 
understand  itself  alone;  it  transmits  a  legacy  to  unknown 
heirs  who  will  interpret  and  fulfill  as  seems  best  to 
them.  As  the  heritage  from  his  tragical  and  solitary 
generation,  Rolland  offers  his  great  picture  of  a  free 
soul.  He  offers  it  "to  the  free  souls  of  all  nations;  to 
those  who  suffer,  struggle,  and  will  conquer."  He  offers 
it  with  the  words: 


234  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Jy  "I  have  written  the  tragedy  of  a  vanishing  generation. 
I  have  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  either  its  vices  or  its 
virtues,  to  hide  its  load  of  sadness,  its  chaotic  pride,  its 
heroic  efforts,  its  struggles  beneath  the  overwhelming 
burden  of  a  superhuman  task — the  task  of  remaking  an 
entire  world,  an  ethic,  an  aesthetic,  a  faith,  a  new  hu- 
manity.    Such  were  we  in  our  generation. 

"Men  of  to-day,  young  men,  your  turn  has  come. 
March  forward  over  our  bodies.  Be  greater  and  hap- 
pier than  we  have  been. 

"For  my  part,  I  say  farewell  to  my  former  soul.  I 
cast  it  behind  me  like  an  empty  shell.  Life  is  a  series 
of  deaths  and  resurrections.  Let  us  die,  Christophe, 
that  we  may  be  reborn." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DEPARTURE 

JEAN  CHRISTOPHE  has  reached  the  further  shore. 
He  has  stridden  across  the  river  of  life,  encir- 
cled by  roaring  waves  of  music.  Safely  carried 
across  seems  the  heritage  which  he  has  borne  on  his 
shoulders  through  storm  and  flood — the  meaning  of  the 
world,  faith  in  life. 

Once  more  he  looks  back  towards  his  fellows  in  the 
land  he  has  left.     All  has  grown  strange  to  him.     He 
can  no  longer  understand  those  who  are  laboring  and 
suff'ering  amid  the  ardors  of  illusion.     He  sees  a  new 
generation,  young  in  a  different  way  from  his  own,  more  ■ 
energetic,  more  brutal,  more  impatient,  inspired  with  a 
diff'erent  heroism.     The  children  of  the  new  days  have  j 
fortified  their  bodies  with  physical  training,  have  steeled  j 
their  courage  in  aerial  flights.     "They  are  proud  of  their  | 
muscles  and  their  broad  chests."     They  are  proud  of 
their  country,  their  religion,  their  civilization,  of  all  that 
they  believe  to  be  their  own  peculiar  appanage;  and 
from   each   of   these   prides  they  forge  themselves   a 
weapon.     "They  would  rather  act  than   understand." 
They  wish  to  show  their  strength  and  test  their  powers. 
The  dying  man  realizes  with  alarm  that  this  new  gen-  \ 
eration,  which  has  never  known  war,  wants  war. 

235 


236  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

He  looks  shudderingly  around :  "The  fire  whicli  had 
been  smouldering  in  the  European  forest  was  now  break- 
ing forth  into  flame.  Extinguished  in  one  place,  it 
promptly  began  to  rage  in  another.  Amid  whirlwinds 
of  smoke  and  a  rain  of  sparks,  it  leaped  from  point  to 
point,  while  the  parched  undergrowth  kindled.  Out- 
post skirmishes  in  the  east  had  already  begun,  as  pre- 
ludes to  the  great  war  of  the  nations.  The  whole  of 
Europe,  that  Europe  which  was  still  skeptical  and  apa- 
thetic like  a  dead  forest,  was  fuel  for  the  conflagration. 
The  fighting  spirit  was  universal.  From  moment  to  mo- 
ment, war  seemed  imminent.  Stifled,  it  was  continually 
reborn.  The  most  trifling  pretext  served  to  feed  its 
strength.  The  world  felt  itself  to  be  at  the  mercy  of 
chance,  which  would  initiate  the  terrible  struggle.  It 
was  waiting.  A  feeling  of  inexorable  necessity  weighed 
upon  all,  even  upon  the  most  pacific.  The  ideologues, 
sheltering  in  the  shade  of  Proudhon  the  titan,  hailed 
war  as  man's  most  splendid  claim  to  nobility. 

"It  was  for  this,  then,  that  there  had  been  eff'ected  a 
physical  and  moral  resurrection  of  the  races  of  the  west! 
It  was  towards  these  butcheries  that  the  streams  of  action 
and  passionate  faith  had  been  hastening!  None  but  a 
Napoleonic  genius  could  have  directed  these  blind  im- 
pulses to  a  foreseen  and  deliberately  chosen  end.  But 
nowhere  in  Europe  was  there  any  one  endowed  with  the 
genius  for  action.  It  seemed  as  if  the  world  had  singled 
out  the  most  commonplace  among  its  sons  to  be  gover- 
nors. The  forces  of  the  human  spirit  were  coursing  in 
other  channels." 


DEPARTURE  237 

Christophe  recalls  those  earlier  days  when  he  and  Oli- 
vier had  been  concerned  about  the  prospect  of  war.  At 
that  time  there  were  but  distant  rumblings  of  the  storm. 
Now  the  storm  clouds  covered  all  the  skies  of  Europe. 
Fruitless  had  been  the  call  to  unity;  vain  had  been  the 
pointing  out  of  the  path  through  the  darkness.  Mourn- 
fully the  seer  contemplates  in  the  distance  the  horsemen 
of  the  Apocalypse,  the  heralds  of  fratricidal  strife. 

But  beside  the  dying  man  is  the  Child,  smiling  and 
full  of  knowledge ;  the  Child  who  is  Eternal  Life. 


PART  FIVE 
INTERMEZZO  SCHERZOSO 

(Colas  Breugnon) 

"Brugnon,  mauvais  gargon,  tu  ris, 
n'as  tu  pas  honte?" — "Que  veux  tu, 
mon  ami?  Je  suis  ce  que  je  suis. 
Rire  ne  m'empeche  pas  de  souffrir; 
mais  souffrir  n'empecheia  jamais  un 
bon  Frangais  de  rire.  Ft  qu'il  rie 
ou  larmoie,  il  faut  d'abord  qu'il 
voie." 

Colas  Breugnon. 


CHAPTER  I 

TAKEN  UNAWARES 

AT  length,  in  this  arduous  career,  came  a  period 
of  repose.  The  great  ten-volume  novel  had 
been  finished ;  the  work  of  European  scope  had 
been  completed.  For  the  first  time  Remain  Rolland 
could  exist  outside  his  work,  free  for  new  words,  new 
configurations,  new  labors.  His  disciple  Jean  Chris- 
tophe,  "the  livest  man  of  our  acquaintance,"  as  Ellen 
Key  phrased  it,  had  gone  out  into  the  world ;  Christophe 
was  collecting  a  circle  of  friends  around  him,  a  quiet 
but  continually  enlarging  community.  For  Rolland, 
nevertheless,  Jean  Christophe's  message  was  already  a 
thing  of  the  past.  The  author  was  in  search  of  a  new 
messenger,  for  a  new  message. 

Romain  Rolland  returned  to  Switzerland,  a  land  he 
loved,  lying  between  the  three  countries  to  which  his  af- 
fection had  been  chiefly  given.  The  Swiss  environment 
had  been  favorable  to  so  much  of  his  work.  Jean  Chris- 
tophe had  been  begun  in  Switzerland.  A  calm  and 
beautiful  summer  enabled  Rolland  to  recruit  his  ener- 
gies. There  was  a  certain  relaxation  of  tension.  Al- 
most idly,  he  turned  over  various  plans.  He  had  al- 
ready begun  to  collect  materials  for  a  new  novel,  a  dra- 

241 


242  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

matic  romance  belonging  to  the  same  intellectual  and 
cultural  category  as  Jean  Christophe. 

Now  of  a  sudden,  as  had  happened  twenty-five  years 
earlier  when  the  vision  of  Jean  Christophe  had  come  to 
him  on  the  Janiculum,  in  the  course  of  sleepless  nights 
he  was  visited  by  a  strange  and  yet  familiar  figure,  that 
of  a  countryman  from  ancestral  days  whose  expansive 
personality  thrust  all  ouier  plans  aside.  Shortly  before, 
Rolland  had  revisited  Clamecy.  The  old  town  had 
awakened  memories  of  his  childhood.  Almost  una- 
wares, home  influences  were  at  work,  and  his  native 
province  had  begun  to  insist  that  its  son,  who  had  de- 
scribed so  many  distant  scenes,  should  depict  the  land 
of  his  birth.  The  Frenchman  who  had  so  vigorously 
and  passionately  transformed  himself  into  a  European, 
the  man  who  had  borne  his  testimony  as  European  be- 
fore the  world,  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  be,  for  a 
creative  hour,  wholly  French,  wholly  Burgundian,  wholly 
Nivemais.  The  musician  accustomed  to  unite  all  voices 
in  his  symphonies,  to  combine  in  them  the  deepest  ex- 
pressions of  feeling,  was  now  longing  to  discover  a  new 
rhythm,  and  after  prolonged  tension  to  relax  into  a  merry 
mood.  For  ten  years  he  had  been  dominated  by  a  sense 
of  strenuous  responsibility;  the  equipment  of  Jean  Chris- 
tophe had  been,  as  it  were,  a  burden  which  his  soul  had 
had  to  bear.  Now  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  pen  a 
Scherzo,  free  and  light,  a  work  unconcerned  with  the 
stresses  of  politics,  ethics,  and  contemporary  history. 
It  should  be  divinely  irresponsible,  an  escape  from  the 
exactions  of  the  time  spirit. 


TAKEN  UNAWARES  243 

During  the  day  following  the  first  night  on  which  the 
idea  came  to  him,  he  had  exultantly  dismissed  other 
plans.  The  rippling  current  of  his  thoughts  was  effort- 
less in  its  flow.  Thus,  to  his  own  astonishment,  during 
the  summer  months  of  1913,  RoUand  was  able  to  com- 
plete his  light-hearted  novel  Colas  Breugnon,  the  French 
intermezzo  in  the  European  symphony. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    BURGUNDIAN   BROTHER 

IT  seemed  at  first  to  Rolland  as  if  a  stranger,  though 
one  from  his  native  province  and  of  his  own  blood, 
had  come  cranking  into  his  life.  He  felt  as  though, 
out  of  the  clear  French  sky,  the  book  had  burst  like  a 
meteor  upon  his  ken.  True,  the  melody  is  new;  different 
are  the  tempo,  the  key,  the  epoch.  But  those  who  have 
acquired  a  clear  understanding  of  the  author's  inner  life 
cannot  fail  to  realize  that  this  amusing  book  does  not 
constitute  an  essential  modification  of  his  work.  It  is 
but  a  variation,  in  an  archaic  setting,  upon  Romain 
Rolland's  leit-motif  of  faith  in  life.  Prince  Aert  and 
King  Louis  were  forefathers  and  brothers  of  Olivier. 
In  like  manner  Colas  Breugnon,  the  jovial  Burgundian, 
the  lusty  wood-carver,  the  practical  joker  always  fond 
of  his  glass,  the  droll  fellow,  is,  despite  his  old-world 
costume,  a  brother  of  Jean  Christophe  looking  at  us 
adown  the  centuries. 

As  ever,  we  find  the  same  theme  underlying  the  novel. 
The  author  shows  us  how  a  creative  human  being  (those 
who  are  not  creative,  hardly  count  for  Rolland)  comes  to 
terms  with  life,  and  above  all  with  the  tragedy  of  his 
own  life.     Colas  Breugnon,  like  Jean  Christophe^  is  the 

244 


THE  BURGUNDIAN  BROTHER  245 

romance  of  an  artist's  life.  But  the  Burgundian  is  an 
artist  of  a  vanished  type,  such  as  could  not  without 
anachronism  have  been  introduced  into  Jean  Christophe. 
Colas  Breugnon  is  an  artist  only  through  fidelity,  dili- 
gence, and  fervor.  In  so  far  as  he  is  an  artist,  it  is  in 
the  faitliful  performance  of  his  daily  task.  What  raises 
him  to  the  higher  levels  of  art  is  not  inspiration,  but  his 
broad  humanity,  his  earnestness,  and  his  vigorous  sim- 
plicity. For  Rolland,  he  was  typical  of  the  nameless 
artists  who  carved  the  stone  figures  that  adorn  French 
cathedrals,  the  artist-craftsmen  to  whom  we  owe  the 
beautiful  gateways,  the  splendid  castles,  the  glorious 
wrought  ironwork  of  the  middle  ages.  These  artificers 
did  not  fashion  their  own  vanity  into  stone,  did  not 
carve  their  own  names  upon  their  work;  but  they  put 
something  into  that  work  which  has  grown  rare  to-day, 
the  joy  of  creation.  In  Jean  Christophe,  on  one  oc- 
casion, Romain  Rolland  had  indited  an  ode  to  the  civic 
life  of  the  old  masters  who  were  wholly  immersed  in 
the  quiet  artistry  of  their  daily  occupations.  He  had 
drawn  attention  to  the  life  of  Sebastian  Bach  and  his 
congeners.  In  like  manner,  he  now  wished  to  display 
anew  what  he  had  depicted  in  so  many  portraits  of  the 
artists,  in  the  studies  of  Michelangelo,  Beethoven,  Tol- 
stoi, and  Handel.  Like  these  sublime  figures.  Colas 
Breugnon  took  delight  in  his  creative  work.  The  mag- 
nificent inspiration  that  animated  them  was  lacking  to 
the  Burgundian,  but  Breugnon  had  a  genius  for  straight- 
forwardness and  for  sensual  harmony.  Without  aspir- 
ing to  bring  salvation  to  the  world,  not  attempting  to 


246  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

i 

'  wrestle  with  the  problems  of  passion  and  the  spiritual 
life,  he  was  content  to  strive  for  that  supreme  simplicity 
of  craftsmanship  which  has  a  perfection  of  its  own  and 

i  thus  brings  the  craftsman  into  touch  with  the  eternal. 
The  primitive  artist-artisan  is  contrasted  with  the  com- 
paratively artificialized  artist  of  modern  days;  Hephais- 
tos,  the  divine  smith,  is  contrasted  with  the  Pythian 
Apollo  and  with  Dionysos.  The  simpler  artist's  sphere 
is  perforce  narrower,  but  it  is  enough  that  an  artist 
should  be  competent  to  fill  the  sphere  for  which  he  is  pre- 
ordained. 

Nevertheless,  Colas  Breugnon  would  not  have  been 
the  typical  artist  of  Rolland's  creation,  had  not  struggle 
been  a  conspicuous  feature  of  his  life,  and  had  we  not 
been  shown  through  him  that  the  real  man  is  always 
stronger  than  his  destiny.  Even  the  cheerful  Colas  ex- 
periences a  full  measure  of  tragedy.  His  house  is 
burned  down,  and  the  work  of  thirty  years  perishes  in 
the  flames;  his  wife  dies;  war  devastates  the  country; 
envy  and  malice  prevent  the  success  of  his  last  artistic 
creations;  in  the  end,  illness  elbows  him  out  of  active 
life.  The  only  defenses  left  him  against  his  troubles, 
against  age,  poverty,  and  gout,  are  "the  souls  he  has 
made,"  his  children,  his  apprentice,  and  one  friend. 
Yet  this  man,  sprung  from  the  Burgundian  peasantry, 
has  an  armor  to  protect  him  from  the  bludgeonings  of 
fate,  armor  no  less  effectual  than  was  the  invincible 
German  optimism  of  Jean  Christophe  or  the  inviolable 
faith  of  Olivier.  Breugnon  has  his  imperturbable  cheer- 
fulness.    "Sorrows  never  prevent  my  laughing;   and 


THE  BURGUNDIAN  BROTHER    247 

when  I  laugh,  I  can  always  weep  at  the  same  time." 
Epicure,  gormandizer,  deep  drinker,  ever  ready  to  leave 
work  for  play,  he  is  none  the  less  a  stoic  when  misfor- 
tune comes,  an  uncomplaining  hero  in  adversity.  When 
his  house  burns,  he  exclaims:  "The  less  I  have,  the 
more  I  am."  The  Burgundian  craftsman  is  a  man  of 
lesser  stature  than  his  brother  of  the  Rhineland,  but  the 
Burgundian's  feet  are  no  less  firmly  planted  on  the  be- 
loved earth.  Whereas  Christophe's  daimon  breaks  forth 
in  storms  of  rage  and  frenzy,  Colas  reacts  against  the 
visitations  of  destiny  with  the  serene  mockery  of  a 
healthy  Gallic  temperament.  His  whimsical  humor 
helps  him  to  face  disaster  and  death.  Assuredly  this 
mental  quality  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  forms  of 
spiritual  freedom. 

Freedom,  however,  is  the  least  important  among  the 
characteristics  of  Rolland's  heroes.  His  primary  aim 
is  always  to  show  us  a  typical  example  of  a  man  armed 
against  his  doom  and  against  his  god,  a  man  who  will 
not  allow  himself  to  be  defeated  by  the  forces  of  life. 
In  the  work  we  are  now  considering,  it  amuses  him 
to  present  the  struggle  as  a  comedy,  instead  of  portray- 
ing it  in  a  more  serious  dramatic  vein.  But  the  comedy 
is  always  transfigured  by  a  deeper  meaning.  Despite 
the  lighter  touches,  as  when  the  forlorn  old  Colas  is  un- 
willing to  take  refuge  in  his  daughter's  house,  or  as 
when  he  boastfully  feigns  indifference  after  the  destruc- 
tion of  his  home  (lest  his  soul  should  be  vexed  by  hav- 
ing to  accept  the  sympathy  of  his  fellow  men),  still  amid 


L/ 


248  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

this  tragi-comedy  he  is  animated  by  the  unalloyed  desire 
to  stand  by  his  own  strength. 

Before  everything,  Colas  Breugnon  is  a  free  man. 
That  he  is  a  Frenchman,  that  he  is  a  burgher,  are  sec- 
ondary considerations.  He  loves  his  king,  but  only  so 
long  as  the  king  leaves  him  his  liberty;  he  loves  his  wife, 
but  follows  his  own  bent;  he  is  on  excellent  terms  with 
the  priest  of  a  neighboring  parish,  but  never  goes  to 
church;  he  idolizes  his  children,  but  his  vigorous  indi- 
,  viduality  makes  him  unwilling  to  live  with  them.  He  is 
(^  friendly  with  all,  but  subject  to  none;  W  is  freer  than 
the  king;  he  has  that  sense  of  humor  characteristic  of 
the  free  spirit  to  whom  the  whole  world  belongs.  Among 
all  nations  and  in  all  ages,  that  being  alone  is  truly  alive 
who  is  stronger  than  fate,  who  breaks  through  the  seine 
of  men  and  things  as  he  swims  freely  down  the  great 
stream  of  life.  We  have  seen  how  Christophe,  the 
Rhinelander,  exclaimed:  "What  is  life?  A  tragedy! 
Hurrah!"  From  his  Burgundian  brother  comes  the  re- 
sponse: "Struggle  is  hard,  but  struggle  is  a  delight." 
Across  the  barriers  of  epoch  and  language,  the  two  look 
on  one  another  with  sympathetic  understanding.  We 
realize  that  free  men  form  a  spiritual  kinship  independ- 
ent of  the  limitations  imposed  by  race  and  time. 


CHAPTER  III 

GAULOISERIES 

ROMAIN  HOLLAND  had  looked  upon  Colas 
Breugnon  as  an  intermezzo,  as  an  easy  occupa- 
tion, which  should,  for  a  change,  enable  him 
to  enjoy  the  delights  of  irresponsible  creation.  But 
there  is  no  irresponsibility  in  art.  A  thing  arduously 
conceived  is  often  heavy  in  execution,  whereas  that  which 
is  lightly  undertaken  may  prove  exceptionally  beautiful. 
From  the  artistic  point  of  view,  Colas  Breugnon  may 
perhaps  be  regarded  as  Holland's  most  successful  work. 
This  is  because  it  is  woven  in  one  piece,  because  it  flows 
with  a  continuous  rhythm,  because  its  progress  is  never 
arrested  by  the  discussion  of  thorny  problems.  Jean 
Christophe  was  a  book  of  responsibility  and  balance. 
It  was  to  discuss  all  the  phenomena  of  the  day;  to  show 
how  they  looked  from  every  side,  in  action  and  reaction. 
Each  country  in  turn  made  its  demand  for  full  consid- 
eration. The  encyclopedic  picture  of  the  world,  the  de- 
liberate comprehensiveness  of  the  design,  necessitated 
the  forcible  introduction  of  many  elements  which  trans- 
cended the  powers  of  harmonious  composition.  But 
Colas  Breugnon  is  written  throughout  in  the  same  key. 
The  first  sentence  gives  the  note  like  a  tuning  fork,  and 

249 


250  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

thence  the  entire  book  takes  its  pitch.  Throughout,  the 
same  lively  melody  is  sustained.  The  writer  employs  a 
peculiarly  happy  form.  His  style  is  poetic  without  be- 
ing actually  versified;  it  has  a  melodious  measure  with- 
out being  strictly  metrical.  The  book,  printed  as  prose, 
is  written  in  a  sort  of  free  verse,  with  an  occasional 
rhymed  series  of  lines.  It  is  possible  that  Rolland 
adopted  the  fundamental  tone  from  Paul  Fort;  but  that 
which  in  the  Ballades  frangaises  with  their  recurrent 
burdens  leads  to  the  formation  of  canzones,  is  here 
punctuated  throughout  an  entire  book,  while  the  phras- 
ing is  most  ingeniously  infused  with  archaic  French 
locutions  after  the  manner  of  Rabelas. 

Here,  Rolland  wishes  to  be  a  Frenchman.  He  goes 
to  the  very  heart  of  the  French  spirit,  has  recourse  to 
"gauloiseries,"  and  makes  the  most  successful  use  of 
the  new  medium,  which  is  unique,  and  which  cannot  be 
compared  with  any  familiar  literary  form.  For  the 
first  time  we  encounter  an  entire  novel  which,  while 
written  in  old-fashioned  French  like  that  of  Balzac's 
Contes  drolatiquesy  succeeds  in  making  its  intricate  dic- 
tion musical  throughout.  "The  Old  Woman's  Death" 
and  "The  Burned  House"  are  as  vividly  picturesque  as 
ballads.  Their  characteristic  and  spiritualized  rhyth- 
mical quality  contrasts  with  the  serenity  of  the  other  pic- 
tures, although  they  are  not  essentially  different  from 
these.  The  moods  pass  lightly,  like  clouds  drifting 
across  the  sky;  and  even  beneath  the  darkest  of  these 
clouds,  the  horizon  of  the  age  smiles  with  a  fruitful 
clearness.     Never  was  Rolland  able  to  give  such  exqui- 


GAULOISERIES  251 

site  expression  to  his  poetic  bent  as  in  this  book  wherein 
he  is  wholly  the  Frenchman.  What  he  presents  to  us  as 
whimsical  sport  and  caprice,  displays  more  plainly  than 
anything  else  the  living  wellspring  of  his  power:  his 
French  soul  immersed  in  its  favorite  element  of  music. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   FRUSTRATE   MESSAGE 

JEAN  CHRISTOPHE  was  the  deliberate  divergence 
from  a  generation.  Colas  Breaignon  is  another 
divergence,  unconsciously  eflfected;  a  divergence 
from  the  traditional  France,  heedlessly  cheerful.  This 
"bourguinon  sale"  wished  to  show  his  fellow  countrymen 
of  a  later  day  how  life  can  be  salted  with  mockery  and 
yet  be  full  of  enjoyment.  Holland  here  displayed  all 
the  riches  of  his  beloved  homeland,  displaying  above  all 
the  most  beautiful  of  these  goods,  the  joy  of  life. 

A  heedless  world,  our  world  of  to-day,  was  to  be  awak- 
ened by  the  poet  singing  of  an  earlier  world  which  had 
been  likewise  impoverished,  had  likewise  wasted  its  ener- 
gies in  futile  hostility.  A  call  to  joy  from  a  Frenchman, 
echoing  down  the  ages,  was  to  answer  the  voice  of  the 
German,  Jean  Christophe.  Their  two  voices  were  to 
mingle  harmoniously  as  the  voices  mingle  in  the  Ode  to 
Joy  of  Beethoven's  Ninth  Symphony.  During  the  tran- 
quil summer  the  pages  were  stacked  like  golden  sheaves. 
The  book  was  in  the  press,  to  appear  during  the  next 
summer,  that  of  1914. 

But  the  summer  of  1914  reaped  a  bloody  harvest. 
The  roar  of  the  cannon,  drowning  Jean  Christophe's 

252 


A  FRUSTRATE  MESSAGE  253 

warning  cry,  deafened  the  ears  of  those  who  might  other-  ^ 

wise  have  hearkened  also  to  the  call  to  joy.  For  five  {yJV^  l^ 
years,  the  five  most  terrible  years  in  the  world's  history, 
the  luminous  figure  stood  unheeded  in  the  darkness. 
There  was  no  coLJuncture  between  Colas  Breugnon  and 
"la  douce  France";  for  this  book,  with  its  description  of 
the  cheerful  France  of  old,  was  not  to  appear  until  that 
Old  France  had  vanished  for  ever. 


PART  SIX 
THE  CONSCIENCE  OF  EUROPE 

One  who  is  aware  of  values  which  he 
regards  as  a  hundredfold  more  pre- 
cious than  the  wellbeing  of  the  "fa- 
therland," of  society,  of  the  kinships 
of  blood  and  race,  values  which 
stand  above  fatherlands  and  races, 
international  values,  such  a  man 
would  prove  himself  hypocrite 
should  he  try  to  play  the  patriot.  It 
is  a  degradation  of  mankind  to  en- 
courage national  hatred,  to  admire 
it,  or  to  extol  it. 

Nietzsche,  Vorreden  Material  im 
Nachlass. 

La  vocation  ne  peut  etre  connue  et 
prouvee  que  par  le  sacrifice  que  fait 
le  savant  et  I'artiste  de  son  repos  et 
son  bien-etre  pour  suivre  sa  vocation. 

Letter    de    Tolstoi    a    Romain 

ROLLAND. 

4,  Octobre,  1887. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  WARDEN   OF  THE   INHERITANCE 

THE  events  of  August  2,  1914,  broke  Europe  into 
fragments.  Therewith  collapsed  the  faith  which 
the  brothers  in  the  spirit,  Jean  Christophe  and 
Olivier,  had  been  building  with  their  lives.  A  great 
heritage  was  cast  aside.  The  idea  of  human  brother- 
hood, once  sacred,  was  buried  contemptuously  by  the 
grave-diggers  of  all  the  lands  at  war,  buried  among  the 
million  corpses  of  the  slain. 

Romain  Rolland  was  faced  by  an  unparalleled  re- 
sponsibility. He  had  presented  the  problems  in  imagi- 
native form.  Now  they  had  come  up  for  solution  as 
terrible  realities.  Faith  in  Europe,  the  faith  which  he 
had  committed  to  the  care  of  Jean  Christophe,  had  no  pro- 
tector, no  advocate,  at  a  time  when  it  was  more  than  ever 
necessary  to  raise  its  standard  against  the  storm.  Well 
did  the  poet  know  that  a  truth  remains  naught  but  a  half- 
truth  while  it  exists  merely  in  verbal  formulation.  It 
is  (in  action  that  a  thought  becomes  genuinely  alive.  A 
faith  proves  itself  real  in  the  form  of  a  public  confession. 

In  Jean  Christophe,  Romain  Rolland  had  delivered  his 
message  to  this  fated  hour.  To  make  the  confession  a 
live  thing,  he  had  to  give  something  more,  himself.     The 

257 


258  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

time  had  come  for  him  to  do  what  Jean  Christophe  had 
done  for  Olivier's  son.  He  must  guard  the  sacred  flame; 
he  must  fulfil  what  his  hero  had  prophetically  fore- 
shadowed. The  way  in  which  Holland  fulfilled  this 
obligation  has  become  for  us  all  an  imperishable  exam- 
ple of  spiritual  heroism,  which  moves  us  even  more 
strongly  than  we  were  moved  by  his  written  words.  We 
saw  his  life  and  personality  taking  the  form  of  an  actu- 
ally living  conviction.  We  saw  how,  with  the  whole 
power  of  his  name,  and  with  all  the  energy  of  his  artistic 
temperament,  he  took  his  stand  against  multitudinous 
adversaries  in  his  own  land  and  in  other  countries,  his 
gaze  fixed  upon  the  heaven  of  his  faith. 

Holland  had  never  failed  to  recognize  that  in  a  time  of 
widespread  illusion  it  would  be  difficult  to  hold  fast  to 
his  convictions,  however  self-evident  they  might  seem. 
But,  as  he  wrote  to  a  French  friend  in  September,  1914, 
"We  do  not  choose  our  own  duties.  Duty  forces  itself 
upon  us.  Mine  is,  with  the  aid  of  those  who  share  my 
ideas,  to  save  from  the  deluge  the  last  vestiges  of  the 
European  spirit  .  .  .  Mankind  demands  of  us  that  those 
who  love  their  fellows  should  take  a  firm  stand,  and 
should  even  fight,  if  needs  must,  against  those  they  love." 

For  five  years  we  have  watched  the  heroism  of  this 
fight,  pursuing  its  own  course  amid  the  warring  of  the 
nations.  We  have  watched  the  miracle  of  one  man's 
keeping  his  senses  amid  the  frenzied  millions,  of  one 
man's  remaining  free  amid  the  universal  slavery  of  pub- 
lic opinion.  We  have  watched  love  at  war  with  hate, 
the  European  at  war  with  the  patriots,  conscience  at  war 


THE  WARDEN  OF  THE  INHERITANCE    259 

with  the  world.  Throughout  this  long  and  bloody  night, 
when  we  were  often  ready  to  perish  from  despair  at  the 
meaninglessness  of  nature,  the  one  thing  which  has  con- 
soled us  and  sustained  us  has  been  the  recognition  that 
the  mighty  forces  which  were  able  to  crush  towns  and 
annihilate  empires,  were  powerless  against  an  isolated 
individual  possessed  of  the  will  and  the  courage  to  be 
free.  Those  who  deemed  themselves  the  victors  over 
mill  ions,  were  to  find  that  there  was  one  thing  which  they 
could  not  master,  a  free  conscience. 

Vain,  therefore,  was  their  triumph,  when  they  buried 
the  crucified  thought  of  Europe.  True  faith  works 
miracles.  Jean  Christophe  had  burst  the  bonds  of  death, 
had  risen  again  in  the  living  form  of  his  own  creator. 


CHAPTER  II 

FOREARMED 

WE  do  not  detract  from  the  moral  services  of 
Remain  Rolland,  but  we  may  perhaps  ex- 
cuse to  some  extent  his  opponents,  when  we 
insist  that  Rolland  had  excelled  all  contemporary  imagi- 
|!  native  writers  in  the  profundity  of  his  preparatory  studies 
I  of  war  and  its  problems.  If  to-day,  in  retrospect,  we 
contemplate  his  writings,  we  marvel  to  note  how,  from 
the  very  first  and  throughout  a  long  period  of  years, 
they  combined  to  build  up,  as  it  were,  a  colossal  pyramid, 
culminating  in  the  point  upon  which  the  lightnings  of 
war  were  to  be  discharged.  For  twenty  years,  the  au- 
thor's thought,  his  whole  creative  activity,  had  been  un- 
intermittently  concentrated  upon  the  contradictions  be- 
tween spirit  and  force,  between  freedom  and  the  father- 
land, between  victory  and  defeat.  Through  a  hundred 
variations  he  had  pursued  the  same  fundamental  theme, 
treating  it  dramatically,  epically,  and  in  manifold  other 
ways.  There  is  hardly  a  problem  relevant  to  this  ques- 
tion which  is  not  touched  upon  by  Christophe  and  Olivier, 
by  Aert  and  by  the  Girondists,  in  their  discussions.  In- 
tellectually regarded,  Rolland's  writings  are  a  maneu- 
vering ground  for  all  the  incentives  to  war.     He  thus  had 

260 


FOREARMED  261 

his  conclusions  already  drawn  when  others  were  begin- 
ning an  attempt  to  come  to  terms  with  events.  As  his- 
torian, he  had  described  the  perpetual  recurrence  of 
war's  typical  accompaniments,  had  discussed  the  psy- 
chology of  mass  suggestion,  and  had  shown  the  effects  of 
wartime  mentality  upon  the  individual.  As  moralist  and 
as  citizen  of  the  world,  he  had  long  ere  this  formulated 
his  creed.     We  may  say,  in  fact,  that  Rolland's  mind  had  » 

been  in  a  sense  immunized  against  the  illusions  of  the  \9  ^  w  ^ 


crowd  and  against  infection  by  prevalent  falsehoods. 
V  Not  by  chance  does  an  artist  decide  which  problems  he 
will  consider.  The  dramatist  does  not  make  a  "lucky 
selection"  of  his  theme.  The  musician  does  not  "dis- 
cover" a  beautiful  melody,  but  already  has  it  within 
him.  It  is  not  the  artist  who  creates  the  problems,  but 
the  problems  which  create  the  artist;  just  as  it  is  not  the 
prophet  who  makes  his  prophecy,  but  the  foresight  which 
creates  the  prophet.  The  artist's  choice  is  always  pre- 
ordained. The  man  who  has  foreseen  the  essential  prob- 
lem of  a  whole  civilization,  of  a  disastrous  epoch,  must 
of  necessity,  in  the  decisive  hour,  play  a  leading  part. 
He  only  who  had  contemplated  the  coming  European 
war  as  an  abyss  towards  which  the  mad  hunt  of  recent 
decades,  making  light  of  every  warning,  had  been  speed- 
ing, only  such  a  one  could  command  his  soul,  could  re- 
frain from  joining  the  bacchanalian  rout,  could  listen  un- 
moved to  the  throbbing  of  the  war  drums.  Who  but  such 
a  man  could  stand  upright  in  the  greatest  storm  of  illu- 
sion the  world  has  ever  known? 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  not  merely  during  the  first 


262  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

hour  of  the  war  was  Holland  in  opposition  to  other  writ- 
ters  and  artists  of  the  day.  This  opposition  dated  from 
the  very  inception  of  his  career,  and  hence  for  twenty 
years  he  had  been  a  solitary.  The  reason  why  the  con- 
trast between  his  outlook  and  that  of  his  generation  had 
not  hitherto  been  conspicuous,  the  reason  why  the  cleav- 
age was  not  disclosed  until  the  actual  outbreak  of  war, 
lies  in  this,  that  Holland's  divergence  was  a  matter  not 
so  much  of  mood  as  of  character.  Before  the  apocalyp- 
tic year,  almost  all  persons  of  artistic  temperament  had 
recognized  quite  as  definitely  as  Holland  had  recognized 
that  a  fratricidal  struggle  between  Europeans  would  be 
a  crime,  would  disgrace  civilization.  With  few  excep- 
tions, they  were  pacifists.  It  would  be  more  correct  to 
say  that  with  few  exceptions  they  believed  themselves  to 
be  pacifists.  For  pacifism  does  not  simply  mean,  to  be  a 
friend  to  peace,  but  to  be  a  worker  in  the  cause  of  peace, 
an  dprjvoTTOLO'i^  as  the  New  Testament  has  it.  Pacifism 
signifies  the  activity  of  an  effective  will  to  peace,  not 
merely  the  love  of  an  easy  life  and  a  preference  for  re- 
pose. It  signifies  struggle;  and  like  every  struggle  it 
demands,  in  the  hour  of  danger,  self-sacrifice  and  hero- 
'  ism.  Now  these  "pacifists"  we  have  just  been  consider- 
ing had  merely  a  sentimental  fondness  for  peace;  they 
were  friendly  towards  peace,  just  as  they  were  friendly 
towards  ideas  of  social  equality,  towards  philanthropy, 
towards  the  abolition  of  capital  punishment.  Such  faith 
as  they  possessed  was  a  faith  devoid  of  passion.  They 
wore  their  opinions  as  they  wore  their  clothing,  and  when 
the  time  of  trial  came  they  were  ready  to  exchange  their 


FOREARMED  263 

pacifist  ethic  lor  the  ethic  of  the  war-makers,  were  ready 
to  don  a  national  uniform  in  matters  of  opinion.  At  bot- 
tom, they  knew  the  right  just  as  well  as  Rolland,  but 
they  had  not  the  courage  of  their  opinions.  Goethe's 
saying  to  Eckermann  applies  to  them  with  deadly  force. 
"All  the  evils  of  modern  literature  are  due  to  lack  of 
character  in  individual  investigators  and  writers." 

Thus  Rolland  did  not  stand  alone  in  his  knowledge, 
which  was  shared  by  many  intellectuals  and  statesmen. 
But  in  his  case,  all  his  knowledge  was  tinged  with  re- 
ligious fervor;  his  beliefs  were  a  living  faith;  his 
thoughts  were  actions.  He  was  unique  among  imagina- 
ive  writers  for  the  splendid  vigor  with  which  he  remained 
true  to  his  ideals  when  all  others  were  deserting  the 
standard;  for  the  way  in  which  he  defended  the  European 
spirit  against  the  raging  armies  of  the  sometime  European 
intellectuals  now  turned  patriots.  Fighting  as  he  had 
fought  from  youth  upwards  on  behalf  of  the  invisible 
against  the  world  of  reality,  he  displayed,  as  a  foil  to 
the  heroism  of  the  trenches,  a  higher  heroism  still. 
While  the  soldiers  were  manifesting  the  heroism  of  blood, 
Rolland  manifested  the  heroism  of  the  spirit,  and  showed 
the  glorious  spectacle  of  one  who  was  able,  amid  the 
intoxication  of  the  war-maddened  masses,  to  maintain  the 
sobriety  and  freedom  of  an  unclouded  mind. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    PLACE   OF   REFUGE 

AT  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  Romain  Rolland  was 
in  Vevey,  a  small  and  ancient  city  on  the  lake 
of  Geneva.  With  few  exceptions  he  spent  his 
summers  in  Switzerland,  the  country  in  which  some  of 
his  best  literary  work  had  been  accomplished.  In 
Switzerland,  where  the  nations  join  fraternal  hands  to 
form  a  state,  where  Jean  Christophe  had  heralded  Euro- 
pean unity,  Rolland  received  the  news  of  the  world  dis- 
aster. 

Of  a  sudden  it  seemed  as  if  his  whole  life  had  become 
meaningless.  Vain  had  been  his  exhortations,  vain  the 
twenty  years  of  ardent  endeavor.  He  had  feared  this 
disaster  since  early  boyhood.  He  had  made  Olivier  cry 
in  torment  of  soul:  "I  dread  war  so  greatly,  I  have 
dreaded  it  for  so  long.  It  has  been  a  nightmare  to  me, 
and  it  poisoned  my  childhood's  days."  Now,  what  he 
had  prophetically  anticipated  had  become  a  terrible  real- 
ity for  hundreds  of  millions  of  human  beings.  The 
agony  of  the  hour  was  nowise  diminished  because  he  had 
foreseen  its  coming  to  be  inevitable.  On  the  contrary, 
while  others  hastened  to  deaden  their  senses  with  the 
opium  of  false  conceptions  of  duty  and  with  the  hashish 
dreams  of  victory,  Rolland's  pitiless  sobriety  enabled 

264 


THE  PLACE  OF  REFUGE  265 

him  to  look  far  out  into  the  future.  On  August  3rd  he 
■wrote  in  his  diary:  "I  feel  at  the  end  of  my  resources. 
I  wish  I  were  dead.  It  is  horrible.to  live  when  men  have 
gone  mad,  horrible  to  witness  the  collapse  of  civiliza- 
tion. This  European  war  is  the  greatest  catastrophe  in 
the  history  of  many  centuries,  the  overthrow  of  our  dear- 
est hopes  of  human  brotherhood."  A  few  days  later, 
in  still  greater  despair,  he  penned  the  following  entry: 
"My  distress  is  so  colossal  an  accumulation  of  distresses 
that  I  can  scarcely  breathe.  The  ravaging  of  France, 
the  fate  of  my  friends,  their  deaths,  their  wounds.  The 
grief  at  all  this  suffering,  the  heartrending  sympathetic 
anguish  with  the  millions  of  sufferers.  I  feel  a  moral 
death-struggle  as  I  look  on  at  this  mad  humanity  which 
is  offering  up  its  most  precious  possessions,  its  energies, 
its  genius,  its  ardors  of  heroic  devotion,  which  is  sacri- 
ficing all  these  things  to  the  murderous  and  stupid  idols 
of  war.  I  am  heartbroken  at  the  absence  of  any  divine 
message,  any  divine  spirit,  any  moral  leadership,  which 
might  upbuild  the  City  of  God  when  the  carnage  is  at  an 
end.  The  futility  of  my  whole  life  has  reached  its  cli- 
max.    If  I  could  but  sleep,  never  to  reawaken." 

Frequently,  in  this  torment  of  mind,  he  desired  to  re- 
turn to  France;  but  he  knew  that  he  could  be  of  no  use 
there.  In  youth,  undersized  and  delicate,  he  had  been 
unfit  for  military  service.  Now,  hard  upon  fifty  years  of 
age,  he  would  obviously  be  of  even  less  account.  The 
merest  semblance  of  helping  in  the  war  would  have  been 
repugnant  to  his  conscience,  for  his  acceptance  of  Tol- 
stoi's teaching  had  made  his  convictions  steadfast.     He 


266  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

knew  that  it  was  incumbent  upon  him  to  defend  France, 
but  to  do  so  in  another  sense  than  that  of  the  combatants 
and  that  of  the  intellectuals  clamorous  with  hate.  "A 
great  nation,"  he  wrote  more  than  a  year  later,  in  the 
preface  to  Au-dessus  de  la  melee,  "has  not  only  its  fron- 
tiers to  protect;  it  must  also  protect  its  good  sense.  It 
must  protect  itself  from  the  hallucinations,  injustices,  and 
follies  which  war  lets  loose.  To  each  his  part.  To  the 
armies,  the  protection  of  the  soil  of  their  native  land.  To 
the  thinkers,  the  defense  of  its  thought.  .  .  .  The  spirit 
is  by  no  means  the  most  insignificant  part  of  a  people's 
patrimony."  In  these  opening  days  of  misery,  it  was  not 
yet  clear  to  him  whether  and  how  he  would  be  called 
upon  to  speak.  Yet  he  knew  that  if  and  when  he  did 
speak,  he  would  take  up  his  parable  on  behalf  of  intel- 
lectual freedom  and  supranational  justice. 

But  justice  must  have  freedom  of  outlook.  Nowhere 
except  in  a  neutral  country  could  the  observer  listen  to 
all  voices,  make  acquaintance  with  all  opinions.  From 
such  a  country  alone  could  he  secure  a  view  above  the 
smoke  of  the  battle-field,  above  the  mist  of  falsehood, 
above  the  poison  gas  of  hatred.  Here  he  could  retain 
freedom  of  judgment  and  freedom  of  speech.  In  Jean 
Christophe,  he  had  shown  the  dangerous  power  of  mass 
suggestion.  "Under  its  influence,"  he  had  written,  "in 
every  country  the  firmest  intelligences  felt  their  most 
cherished  convictions  melting  away."  No  one  knew  bet- 
ter than  Rolland  "the  spiritual  contagion,  the  all-pervad- 
ing insanity,  of  collective  thought."  Knowing  these 
things  so  well,  he  wished  all  the  more  to  remain  free 


THE  PLACE  OF  REFUGE  267 

from  them,  to  shun  the  intoxication  of  the  crowd,  to  avoid 
the  risk  of  having  to  follow  any  other  leadership  than 
that  of  his  conscience.  He  had  merely  to  turn  to  his 
own  writings.  He  could  read  there  the  words  of  Olivier: 
"I  love  France,  but  I  cannot  for  the  sake  of  France  kill 
my  soul  or  betray  my  conscience.  This  would  indeed  be 
to  betray  my  country.  How  can  I  hate  when  I  feel  no 
hatred?  How  can  I  truthfully  act  the  comedy  of  hate?" 
Or,  again,  he  could  read  this  memorable  confession:  "I 
will  not  hate.  I  will  be  just  even  to  my  enemies.  Amid 
all  the  stresses  of  passion,  I  wish  to  keep  my  vision  clear, 
that  I  may  understand  everything  and  thus  be  able  to 
love  everything."  Only  in  freedom,  only  in  indepen- 
dence of  spirit,  can  the  artist  aid  his  nation.  Thus  alone 
can  he  serve  his  generation,  thus  alone  can  he  serve 
humanity.  Loyalty  to  truth  is  loyalty  to  the  fatherland. 
What  had  befallen  through  chance  was  now  confirmed 
by  deliberate  choice.  During  the  five  years  of  the  war 
Romain  Rolland  remained  in  Switzerland,  Europe's 
heart;  remained  there  that  he  might  fulfil  his  task,  "de 
dire  ce  qui  est  juste  et  humain."  Here,  where  the 
breezes  blow  freely  from  all  other  lands,  and  whence  a 
voice  could  pass  freely  across  all  the  frontiers,  here 
where  no  fetters  were  imposed  upon  speech,  he  followed 
the  call  of  his  invisible  duty.  Close  at  hand  the  endless 
waves  of  blood  and  hatred  emanating  from  the  frenzy  of 
war  were  foaming  against  the  frontiers  of  the  cantonal 
state.  But  throughout  the  storm,  the  magnetic  needle  of 
one  intelligence  continued  to  point  unerringly  towards 
the  immutable  pole  of  life — to  point  towards  love. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    SERVICE   OF    MAN 

IN  RoUand's  view  it  was  the  artist's  duty  to  serve  his 
fatherland  by  conscientious  service  to  all  mankind, 
to  play  his  part  in  the  struggle  by  waging  war 
against  the  suffering  the  war  was  causing  and  against 
the  thousandfold  torments  entailed  by  the  war.  He  re- 
jected the  idea  of  absolute  aloofness.  "An  artist  has  no 
right  to  hold  aloof  while  he  is  still  able  to  help  others." 
But  this  aid,  this  participation,  must  not  take  the  form  of 
fostering  the  murderous  hatred  which  already  animated 
the  millions.  The  aim  must  be  to  unite  the  millions 
further,  where  unseen  ties  already  existed,  in  their  infi- 
nite suffering.  He  therefore  took  his  part  in  the  ranks 
of  the  helpers,  not  weapon  in  hand,  but  following  the 
example  of  Walt  Whitman,  who,  during  the  American 
Civil  War,  served  as  hospital  assistant. 

Hardly  had  the  first  blows  been  struck  when  cries  of 
anguish  from  all  lands  began  to  be  heard  in  Switzerland. 
Thousands  who  were  without  news  of  fathers,  husbands, 
and  sons  in  the  battlefields,  stretched  despairing  arms 
into  the  void.  By  hundreds,  by  thousands,  by  tens  of 
thousands,  letters  and  telegrams  poured  into  the  little 
House  of  the  Red  Cross  in  Geneva,  the  only  international 

268 


THE  SERVICE  OF  MAN  269 

rallying  point  that  still  remained.  Isolated,  like  stormy 
petrels,  came  the  first  inquiries  for  missing  relatives; 
then  these  inquiries  themselves  became  a  storm.  The 
letters  arrived  in  sackfuls.  Nothing  had  been  prepared 
for  dealing  with  such  an  inundation  of  misery.  The  Red 
Cross  had  no  space,  no  organization,  no  system,  and 
above  all  no  helpers. 

Romain  Rolland  was  one  of  the  first  to  offer  personal 
assistance.  The  Musee  Rath  was  quickly  made  available 
for  the  purposes  of  the  Red  Cross.  In  one  of  the  small 
wooden  cubicles,  among  hundreds  of  girls,  women,  and 
students,  Rolland  sat  for  more  than  eighteen  months, 
engaged  each  day  for  from  six  to  eight  hours  side  by 
side  with  the  head  of  the  undertaking,  Dr.  Ferriere,  to 
whose  genius  for  organization  myriads  owe  it  that  the 
period  of  suspense  was  shortened.  Here  Rolland  filed 
letters,  wrote  letters,  performed  an  abundance  of  detail 
work,  seemingly  of  little  importance.  But  how  moment- 
ous was  every  word  to  the  individuals  whom  he  could 
help,  for  in  this  vast  universe  each  suffering  individual 
is  mainly  concerned  about  his  own  particular  grain  of 
unhappiness.  Countless  persons  to-day,  unaware  of  the 
fact,  have  to  thank  the  great  writer  for  news  of  their 
lost  relatives.  A  rough  stool,  a  small  table  of  unpolished 
deal,  the  turmoil  of  typewriters,  the  bustle  of  human  be- 
ings questioning,  calling  one  to  another,  hastening  to  and 
fro — such  was  Romain  Rolland's  battlefield  in  this  cam- 
paign against  the  afflictions  of  the  war.  Here,  while 
other  authors  and  intellectuals  were  doing  their  utmost 
to  foster  mutual  hatred,  he  endeavored  to  promote  rec- 


270  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

onciliation,  to  alleviate  the  torment  of  a  fraction  among 
the  countless  sufferers  by  such  consolation  as  the  circum- 
stances rendered  possible.  He  neither  desired,  nor  occu- 
pied, a  leading  position  in  the  work  of  the  Red  Cross; 
but,  like  so  many  other  nameless  assistants,  he  devoted 
himself  to  the  daily  task  of  promoting  the  interchange  of 
news.  His  deeds  were  inconspicuous,  and  are  therefore 
all  the  more  memorable. 

When  he  was  allotted  the  Nobel  peace  prize,  he  re- 
fused to  retain  the  money  for  his  own  use,  and  devoted 
the  whole  sum  -to  the  mitigation  of  the  miseries  of  Eu- 
rope, that  he  might  suit  the  action  to  the  word,  the  word 
to  the  action.     Ecce  homo!     Ecce  poeta! 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    TRIBUNAL   OF   THE    SPIRIT 

NO  one  had  been  more  perfectly  forearmed  than 
Romain  Rolland.  The  closing  chapters  of 
Jean  Christophe  foretell  the  coming  mass  illu- 
sion. Never  for  a  moment  had  he  entertained  the  vain 
hope  of  certain  idealists  that  the  fact  (or  semblance)  of 
civilization,  that  the  increase  of  human  kindliness  which 
we  owe  to  two  millenniums  of  Christianity,  would  make 
a  future  war,  comparatively  humane.  Too  well  did  he 
know  as  historian  that  in  the  initial  outbursts  of  war 
passion  the  veneer  of  civilization  and  Christianity  would 
be  rubbed  off;  that  in  all  nations  alike  the  naked  bestial- 
ity of  human  beings  would  be  disclosed;  that  the  smell 
of  the  shed  blood  would  reduce  them  all  to  the  level  of 
wild  beasts.  He  did  not  conceal  from  himself  that  this 
strange  halitus  is  able  to  dull  and  to  confuse  even  the 
gentlest,  the  kindliest,  the  most  intelligent  of  souls.  The 
rending  asunder  of  ancient  friendships,  the  sudden  soli- 
darity among  persons  most  opposed  in  temperament  now 
eager  to  abase  themselves  before  the  idol  of  the  father- 
land, the  total  disappearance  of  conscientious  convic- 
tion at  the  first  breath  of  the  actualities  of  war — in  Jean 
Christophe  these  things  were  written  no  less  plainly  than 

271 


272  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

when  of  old  the  fingers  of  the  hand  wrote  upon  the  palace 
wall  in  Babylon. 

Nevertheless,  even  this  prophetic  soul  had  underesti- 
mated the  cruel  reality.  During  the  opening  days  of  the 
war,  Rolland  was  horrified  to  note  how  all  previous  wars 
were  being  eclipsed  in  the  atrocity  of  the  struggle,  in  its 
material  and  spiritual  brutality,  in  its  extent,  and  in  the 
intensity  of  its  passion.  All  possible  anticipations  had 
been  outdone.  Although  for  thousands  of  years,  by 
twos  or  variously  allied,  the  peoples  of  Europe  had  al- 
most unceasingly  been  warring  one  with  another,  never 
before  had  their  mutual  hatreds,  as  manifested  in  word 
and  deed,  risen  to  such  a  pitch  as  in  this  twentieth  cen- 
tury after  the  birth  of  Christ.  Never  before  in  the  his- 
tory of  mankind  did  hatred  extend  so  widely  through  the 
populations;  never  did  it  rage  so  fiercely  among  the  in- 
tellectuals; never  before  was  oil  pumped  into  the  flames 
as  it  was  now  pumped  from  innumerable  fountains  and 
tubes  of  the  spirit,  from  the  canals  of  the  newspapers, 
from  the  retorts  of  the  professors.  All  evil  instincts 
were  fostered  among  the  masses.  The  whole  world  of 
feeling,  the  whole  world  of  thought,  became  militarized. 
The  loathsome  organization  for  the  dealing  of  death  by 
material  weapons  was  yet  more  loathsomely  reflected  in 
the  organization  of  national  telegraphic  bureaus  to  scat- 
ter lies  like  sparks  over  land  and  sea.  For  the  first 
time,  science,  poetry,  art,  and  philosophy  became  no  less 
subservient  to  war  than  mechanical  ingenuity  was  sub- 
servient. In  the  pulpits  and  professorial  chairs,  in  the 
research  laboratories,  in  the  editorial  offices  and  in  the 


THE  TRIBUNAL  OF  THE  SPIRIT        273 

authors'  studies,  all  energies  were  concentrated  as  by  an 
invisible  system  upon  the  generation  and  diffusion  of 
hatred.  The  seer's  apocalyptic  warnings  were  sur- 
passed. 

A  deluge  of  hatred  and  blood  such  as  even  the  blood- 
drenched  soil  of  Europe  had  never  known,  flowed  from 
land  to  land.  Romain  Rolland  knew  that  a  lost  world,  a 
corrupt  generation,  cannot  be  saved  from  its  illusions. 
A  world  conflagration  cannot  be  extinguished  by  a  word, 
cannot  be  quelled  by  the  efforts  of  naked  human  hands. 
The  only  possible  endeavor  was  to  prevent  others  adding 
fuel  to  the  flames,  and  with  the  lash  of  scorn  and  con- 
tempt to  deter  as  far  as  might  be  those  who  were  engaged 
in  such  criminal  undertakings.  It  might  be  possible, 
too,  to  build  an  ark  wherein  what  was  intellectually  pre- 
cious in  this  suicidal  generation  might  be  saved  from  the 
deluge,  might  be  made  available  for  those  of  a  future 
day  when  the  waters  of  hatred  should  have  subsided.  A 
sign  might  be  uplifted,  round  which  the  faithful  could 
rally,  building  a  temple  of  unity  amid,  and  yet  high 
above,  the  battlefields.  — 

Among  the  detestable  organizations  of  the  general 
staffs,  mechanical  ingenuity,  lying,  and  hatred,  Rolland 
dreamed  of  establishing  another  organization,  a  fellow- 
ship of  the  free  spirits  of  Europe.  The  leading  imagina- 
tive writers,  the  leading  men  of  science,  were  to  constitute 
the  ark  he  desired;  they  were  to  be  the  sustainers  of 
justice  in  these  days  of  injustice  and  falsehood.  While 
the  masses,  deceived  by  words,  were  raging  against  one 
another  in  blind  fury,  the  artists,  the  writers,  the  men  of 


274  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

science,  of  Germany,  France,  and  England,  who  for  cen- 
turies had  been  cooperating  for  discoveries,  advances, 
ideals,  could  combine  to  form  a  tribunal  of  the  spirit 
which,  with  scientific  earnestness,  should  devote  itself  to 
extirpating  the  falsehoods  that  were  keeping  their  re- 
spective peoples  apart.  Transcending  nationality,  they 
could  hold  intercourse  on  a  higher  plane.  For  it  was 
Rolland's  most  cherished  hope  that  the  great  artists  and 
great  investigators  would  refuse  to  identify  themselves 
with  the  crime  of  the  war,  would  refrain  from  abandon- 
ing their  freedom  of  conscience  and  from  entrenching 
themselves  behind  a  facile  "my  country,  right  or  wrong." 
With  few  exceptions,  intellectuals  had  for  centuries 
recognized  the  repulsiveness  of  war.  More  than  a  thou- 
sand years  earlier,  when  China  was  threatened  by  ambi- 
tious Mongols,  Li  Tai  Peh  had  exclaimed:  "Accursed 
be  war!  Accursed  the  work  of  weapons!  The  sage  has 
nothing  to  do  with  these  follies."  The  contention  that 
the  sage  has  naught  to  do  with  such  follies  seems  to  rise 
like  an  unenunciated  refrain  from  all  the  utterances  of 
western  men  of  learning  since  Europe  began  to  have  a 
common  life.  In  Latin  letters  (for  Latin,  the  medium 
of  intercourse,  was  likewise  the  symbol  of  supranational 
fellowship),  the  great  humanists  whose  respective  coun- 
tries were  at  war  exchanged  their  regrets,  and  offered 
mutual  philosophical  solace  against  the  murderous  illu- 
sions of  their  less  instructed  fellows.  Herder  was  speak- 
ing for  the  learned  Germans  of  the  eighteenth  century 
when  he  wrote :  "For  fatherland  to  engage  in  a  bloody 
struggle  with  fatherland  is  the  most  preposterous  barbar- 


THE  TRIBUNAL  OF  THE  SPIRIT         275 

ism."  Goethe,  Byron,  Voltaire,  and  Rousseau,  were  at 
one  in  their  contempt  for  the  purposeless  butcheries  of 
war.  To-day,  in  Rolland's  view,  the  leading  intellec- 
tuals, the  great  scientific  investigators  whose  minds  would 
perforce  remain  unclouded,  the  most  humane  among  the 
imaginative  writers,  could  join  in  a  fellowship  whose 
members  would  renounce  the  errors  of  their  respective 
nations.  He  did  not,  indeed,  venture  to  hope  that  there 
would  be  a  very  large  number  of  persons  whose  souls 
would  remain  free  from  the  passions  of  the  time.  But 
spiritual  force  is  not  based  upon  numbers;  its  laws  are 
not  those  of  armies.  In  this  field,  Goethe's  saying  is  ap- 
plicable: "Everything  great,  and  everything  most  worth 
having  comes  from  a  minority.  It  cannot  be  supposed 
that  reason  will  ever  become  popular.  Passion  and 
sentiment  may  be  popularized,  the  reason  will  always 
remain  a  privilege  of  the  few."  This  minority,  how- 
ever, may  acquire  authority  through  spiritual  force. 
Above  all,  it  may  constitute  a  bulwark  against  falsehood. 
If  men  of  light  and  leading,  free  men  of  all  nationalities, 
were  to  meet  somewhere,  in  Switzerland  perhaps,  to  make 
common  cause  against  every  injustice,  by  whomever  com- 
mitted, a  sanctuary  would  at  length  be  established,  an 
asylum  for  truth  which  was  now  everywhere  bound  and 
gagged.  Europe  would  have  a  span  of  soil  for  home; 
mankind  would  have  a  spark  of  hope.  Holding  mutual 
converse,  these  best  of  men  could  enlighten  one  another; 
and  the  reciprocal  illumination  on  the  part  of  such  un- 
prejudiced persons  could  not  fail  to  diffuse  its  light  over 
the  world. 


276  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Such  was  the  mood  in  which  Holland  took  up  his  pen 
for  the  first  time  after  the  outbreak  of  war.  He  wrote 
an  open  letter  to  Hauptmann,  to  the  author  whom  among 
Germans  he  chiefly  honored  for  goodness  and  humane- 
ness. Within  the  same  hour  he  wrote  to  Verhaeren, 
Germany's  bitterest  foe.  Holland  thus  stretched  forth 
both  hi^  hands,  rightward  and  leftward,  in  the  hope  that 
he  could  bring  his  two  correspondents  together,  so  that 
at  least  within  the  domain  of  pure  spirit  there  might  be 
a  first  essay  towards  spiritual  reconciliation,  what  time 
upon  the  battlefields  the  machine-guns  with  their  infernal 
clatter  were  mowing  down  the  sons  of  France,  Germany, 
Belgium,  Britain,  Austria-Hungary,  and  Russia. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    CONTROVERSY   WITH    GERHART    HAUPTMANN 

ROMAIN  HOLLAND  had  never  been  personally 
acquainted  with  Gerhart  Hauptmann.  He 
was  familiar  with  the  German's  writings,  and 
admired  their  passionate  participation  in  all  that  is 
human,  loved  them  for  the  goodness  with  which  the 
individual  figures  are  intentionally  characterized.  On 
a  visit  to  Berlin,  he  had  called  at  Hauptmann's  house, 
but  the  playwright  was  away.  The  two  had  never  before 
exchanged  letters. 

Nevertheless,  Holland  decided  to  address  Hauptmann 
as  a  representative  German  author,  as  writer  of  Die 
Weber  and  as  creator  of  many  other  figures  typifying 
suffering.  He  wrote  on  August  29,  1914,  the  day  on 
which  a  telegram  issued  by  Wolff's  agency,  ludicrously 
exaggerating  in  pursuit  of  the  policy  of  "frightfulness," 
had  announced  that  "the  old  town  of  Louvain,  rich  in 
works  of  art,  exists  no  more  to-day."  An  outburst  of 
indignation  was  assuredly  justified,  but  Rolland  en- 
deavored to  exhibit  the  utmost  self-control.  He  began 
as  follows:  "I  am  not,  Gerhart  Hauptmann,  one  of 
those  Frenchmen  who  regard  Germany  as  a  nation  of 
barbarians.     I  know  the  intellectual  and  moral  great- 

277 


278  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

ness  of  your  mighty  race.  I  know  all  that  I  owe  to  the 
thinkers  of  Old  Germany;  and  even  now,  at  this  hour,  I 
recall  the  example  and  the  words  of  our  Goethe — for 
he  belongs  to  the  whole  of  humanity — repudiating  all  na- 
tional hatreds  and  preserving  the  calmness  of  his  soul 
on  those  heights  'where  we  feel  the  happiness  and  the 
misfortunes  of  other  peoples  as  our  own.'  "  He  goes  on 
with  a  pathetic  self -consciousness  for  the  first  time  notice- 
able in  the  work  of  this  most  modest  of  writers.  Recog- 
nizing his  mission,  he  lifts  his  voice  above  the  contro- 
versies of  the  moment.  "I  have  labored  all  my  life  to 
bring  together  the  minds  of  our  two  nations;  and  the 
atrocities  of  this  impious  war  in  which,  to  the  ruin  of 
European  civilization,  they  are  involved,  will  never  lead 
me  to  soil  my  spirit  with  hatred." 

Now  Rolland  sounds  a  more  impassioned  note.  He 
does  not  hold  Germany  responsible  for  the  war.  "War 
springs  from  the  weakness  and  stupidity  of  nations." 
He  ignores  political  questions,  but  protests  vehemently 
against  the  destruction  of  works  of  art,  asking  Haupt- 
mann  and  his  countrymen,  "Are  you  the  grandchildren 
of  Goethe  or  of  Attila?"  Proceeding  more  quietly,  he 
implores  Hauptmann  to  refrain  from  any  attempt  to 
justify  such  things.  "In  the  name  of  our  Europe,  of 
which  you  have  hitherto  been  one  of  the  most  illustrious 
champions,  in  the  name  of  that  civilization  for  which 
the  greatest  of  men  have  striven  all  down  the  ages,  in  the 
name  of  the  very  honor  of  your  Germanic  race,  Gerhart 
Hauptmann,  I  adjure  you,  I  challenge  you,  you  and  the 
intellectuals  of  Germany,  among  whom  I  reckon  so  many 


CONTROVERSY  WITH  HAUPTMANN     279 

friends,  to  protest  with  the  utmost  energy  against  this 
crime  which  will  otherwise  recoil  upon  yourselves." 
Rolland's  hope  was  that  the  Germans  would,  like  him- 
self, refuse  to  condone  the  excesses  of  the  war-makers, 
would  refuse  to  accept  the  war  as  a  fatality.  He  hoped 
for  a  public  protest  from  across  the  Rhine.  Rolland 
was  not  aware  that  at  this  time  no  one  in  Germany  had 
or  could  have  any  inkling  of  the  true  political  situation. 
He  was  not  aware  that  such  a  public  protest  as  he  de- 
sired was  quite  impossible. 

Gerhart  Hauptmann's  answer  struck  a  fiercer  note  than 
Rolland's  letter.  Instead  of  complying  with  the  French- 
man's plea,  instead  of  repudiating  the  German  militarist 
policy  of  frightfulness,  he  attempted,  with  sinister  en- 
thusiasm, to  justify  that  policy.  Accepting  the  maxim, 
"war  is  war,"  he,  somewhat  prematurely,  defended  the 
right  of  the  stronger.  "The  weak  naturally  have  re- 
course to  vituperation."  He  declared  the  report  of  the 
destruction  of  Louvain  to  be  false.  It  was,  he  said,  a 
matter  of  life  or  death  for  Germany  that  the  German 
troops  should  effect  "their  peaceful  passage"  through 
Belgium.  He  referred  to  the  pronouncements  of  the 
general  staff,  and  quoted,  as  the  highest  authority  for 
truth,  the  words  of  "the  Emperor  himself." 

Therewith  the  controversy  passed  from  the  spiritual  to 
the  political  plane.  Rolland,  embittered  in  his  turn, 
rejected  the  views  of  Hauptmann,  who  was  lending  his 
moral  authority  to  the  support  of  Schlieffen's  aggressive 
theories.  Hauptmann,  declared  Rolland,  was  "accept- 
ing responsibility  for  the  crimes  of  those  who  wield 


280  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

authority."  Instead  of  promoting  harmony,  the  cor- 
respondence was  fostering  discord.  In  reality  the  two 
had  no  common  ground  for  discussion.  The  attempt 
was  ill-timed,  passion  still  ran  too  high;  the  mists  of  pre- 
valent falsehood  still  obscured  vision  on  both  sides. 
The  waters  of  the  flood  continued  to  rise,  the  infinite 
deluge  of  hatred  and  error.  Brethren  were  as  yet  un- 
able to  recognize  one  another  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    CORRESPONDENCE   WITH   VERHAEREN 

HAVING  written  to  Gerhart  Hauptmann,  the 
German,  Rolland  almost  simultaneously  ad- 
dressed himself  to  Emile  Verhaeren,  the  Bel- 
gian, who  had  been  an  enthusiast  for  European  unity, 
but  had  now  become  one  of  Germany's  bitterest  foes. 
Perhaps  no  one  is  better  entitled  than  the  present  writer 
to  bear  witness  that  Verhaeren's  hostility  to  Germany 
was  a  new  thing.  As  long  as  peace  lasted,  the  Belgian 
poet  had  known  no  other  ideal  than  that  of  international 
brotherhood,  had  detested  nothing  more  heartily  than  he 
detested  international  discord.  Shortly  before  the  war, 
in  his  preface  to  Henri  Guilbeaux's  anthology  of  Ger- 
man poetry,  Verhaeren  had  spoken  of  "the  ardor  of  the 
nations,"  which,  he  said,  "in  defiance  of  that  other  pas- 
sion which  tends  to  make  them  quarrel,  inclines  them 
towards  mutual  love."  The  German  invasion  of  Bel- 
gium taught  him  to  hate.  His  verses,  which  had  hitherto 
been  odes  to  creative  force,  were  henceforward  dithy- 
rambs in  favor  of  hostility. 

Rolland  had  sent  Verhaeren  a  copy  of  his  protest 
against  the  destruction  of  Louvain  and  the  bombardment 
of  Rheims  cathedral.     Concurring  in  this  protest,  Ver- 

281 


282  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

haeren  wrote:  "Sadness  and  hatred  overpower  me. 
The  latter  feeling  is  new  in  my  experience.  I  cannot 
rid  myself  of  it,  although  I  am  one  of  those  who  have 
always  regarded  hatred  as  a  base  sentiment.  Such  love 
as  I  can  give  in  this  hour  is  reserved  for  my  country, 
or  rather  for  the  heap  of  ashes  to  which  Belgium  has 
been  reduced."  Rolland's  answer  ran  as  follows: 
"Rid  yourself  of  hatred.  Neither  you  nor  we  should 
give  way  to  it.  Let  us  guard  against  hatred  even  more 
than  we  guard  against  our  enemies!  You  will  see  at 
a  later  date  that  the  tragedy  is  more  terrible  than  peo- 
ple can  realize  while  it  is  actually  being  played.  .  .  . 
So  stupendous  is  this  European  drama  that  we  have  no 
right  to  make  human  beings  responsible  for  it.  It  is  a 
convulsion  of  nature  .  .  .  Let  us  build  an  ark  as  did 
those  who  were  threatened  with  the  deluge.  Thus  we  can 
save  what  is  left  of  humanity."  Without  acrimony, 
Verhaeren  rejected  this  adjuration.  He  deliberately 
chose  to  remain  inspired  with  hatred,  little  as  he  liked  the 
feeling.  In  La  Belgique  sanglante,  he  declared  that 
hatred  brought  a  certain  solace,  although,  dedicating  his 
work  "to  the  man  I  once  was,"  he  manifested  his  yearn- 
ing for  the  revival  of  his  former  sentiment  that  the  world 
was  a  comprehensive  whole.  Vainly  did  Rolland  return 
to  the  charge  in  a  touching  letter:  "Greatly,  indeed, 
must  you  have  suffered,  to  be  able  to  hate.  But  I  am 
confident  that  in  your  case  such  a  feeling  cannot  long 
endure,  for  souls  like  yours  would  perish  in  this  atmos- 
phere. Justice  must  be  done,  but  it  is  not  a  demand  of 
justice  that  a  whole  people  should  be  held  responsible 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  VERHAEREN     283 

for  the  crimes  of  a  few  hundred  individuals.  Were  there 
but  one  just  man  in  Israel,  you  would  have  no  right  to 
pass  judgment  upon  all  Israel.  Surely  it  is  impossible 
for  you  to  doubt  that  many  in  Germany  and  Austria, 
oppressed  and  gagged,  continue  to  suffer  and  struggle. 
.  .  .  Thousands  of  innocent  persons  are  being  every- 
where sacrificed  to  the  crimes  of  politics!  Napoleon 
was  not  far  wrong  when  he  said:  'Politics  are  for  us 
what  fate  was  for  the  ancients.'  Never  was  the  destiny 
of  classical  days  more  cruel.  Let  us  refuse,  Verhaeren, 
to  make  common  cause  with  this  destiny.  Let  us  take 
our  stand  beside  the  oppressed,  beside  all  the  oppressed, 
wherever  they  may  dwell.  I  recognize  only  two  nations 
on  earth,  that  of  those  who  suffer,  and  that  of  those  who 
cause  the  suffering." 

Verhaeren,  however,  was  unmoved.  He  answered  as 
follows:  "If  I  hate,  it  is  because  what  I  saw,  felt,  and 
heard,  is  hateful  ...  I  admit  that  I  cannot  be  just,  now 
that  I  am  filled  with  sadness  and  bum  with  anger.  I  am 
not  simply  standing  near  the  fire,  but  am  actually  amid 
the  flames,  so  that  I  suffer  and  weep.  I  can  no  other- 
wise." He  remained  loyal  to  hatred,  and  indeed  loyal 
to  the  hatred-for-hate  of  Romain  Rolland's  Olivier. 
Notwithstanding  this  grave  divergence  of  view  between 
Verhaeren  and  Rolland,  the  two  men  continued  on  terms 
of  friendship  and  mutual  respect.  Even  in  the  preface 
he  contributed  to  Loyson's  inflammatory  book,  Etes-vous 
neutre  devant  le  crime,  Verhaeren  distinguished  be- 
tween the  person  and  the  cause.  He  was  unable,  he  said, 
"to  espouse  Rolland's  error,"  but  he  would  not  repudiate 


284  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

his  friendship  for  Rolland.  Indeed,  he  desired  to 
emphasize  its  existence,  seeing  that  in  France  it  was  al- 
ready "dangerous  to  love  Romain  Rolland." 

In  this  correspondence,  as  in  that  with  Hauptmann, 
two  strong  passions  seemed  to  clash;  but  the  opponents 
in  reality  remained  out  of  touch.  Here,  likewise,  the 
appeal  was  fruitless.  Practically  the  whole  world  was 
given  over  to  hatred,  including  even  the  noblest  creative 
artists,  and  the  finest  among  the  sons  of  men. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    EUROPEAN   CONSCIENCE 

AS  on  so  many  previous  occasions  in  his  life  of 
action,  this  man  of  inviolable  faith  had  issued 
to  the  world  an  appeal  for  fellowship,  and  had 
issued  it  once  more  in  vain.  The  writers,  the  men  of 
science,  the  philosophers,  the  artists,  all  took  the  side  of 
the  country  to  which  they  happened  to  belong;  the  Ger- 
mans spoke  for  Germany,  the  Frenchmen  for  France,  the 
Englishmen  for  England.  No  one  would  espouse  the 
universal  cause;  no  one  would  rise  superior  to  the  device, 
my  country  right  or  wrong.  In  every  land,  among  those 
of  every  nation,  there  were  to  be  found  plenty  of  en- 
thusiastic advocates,  persons  willing  blindly  to  justify  all 
their  country's  doings,  including  its  errors  and  its  crimes, 
to  excuse  these  errors  and  crimes  upon  the  plea  of  neces- 
sity. There  was  only  one  land,  the  land  common  to  them 
all,  Europe,  motherland  of  all  the  fatherlands,  which 
found  no  advocate,  no  defender.  There  was  only  one 
idea,  the  most  self-evident  to  a  Christian  world,  which 
found  no  spokesman — the  idea  of  ideas,  humanity. 

During  these  days,  Holland  may  well  have  recalled 
sacred  memories  of  the  time  when  Leo  Tolstoi's  letter 
came  to  give  him  a  mission  in  life.     Tolstoi  had  stood 

285 


286  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

alone  in  the  utterance  of  his  celebrated  outcry,  "I  can  no 
longer  keep  silence."  At  that  time  his  country  was  at 
war.  He  arose  to  defend  the  invisible  rights  of  human 
beings,  uttering  a  protest  against  the  command  that  men 
should  murder  their  brothers.  Now  his  voice  was  no 
longer  heard;  his  place  was  empty;  the  conscience  of 
mankind  was  dumb.  To  Rolland,  the  consequent 
silence,  the  terrible  silence  of  the  free  spirit  amid  the 
hurly-burly  of  the  slaves,  seemed  more  hateful  than  the 
roar  of  the  cannon.  Those  to  whom  he  had  appealed 
for  help  had  refused  to  answer  the  call.  The  ultimate 
truth,  the  truth  of  conscience,  had  no  organized  fellow- 
ship to  sustain  it.  ,  No  one  would  aid  him  in  the  struggle 
for  the  freedom  of  the  European  soul,  the  struggle  of 
truth  against  falsehood,  the  struggle  of  human  loving- 
kindness  against  frenzied  hate.  Rolland  once  again  was 
alone  with  his  faith,  more  alone  than  during  the  bitter- 
est years  of  solitude. 

But  Rolland  has  never  been  one  to  resign  himself  to 
loneliness.  In  youth  he  had  already  felt  that  those  who 
are  passive  while  wrong  is  being  done  are  as  criminal  as 
the  very  wrongdoer.  "Ceux  qui  subissent  le  mal  sont 
aussi  criminels  que  ceux  qui  le  font."  Upon  the  poet, 
above  all,  it  seemed  to  him  incumbent  to  find  words  for 
thought,  and  to  vivify  the  words  by  action.  It  is  not 
enough  to  write  ornamental  comments  upon  the  history 
of  one's  time.  The  poet  must  be  part  of  the  very  being 
of  his  time,  must  fight  to  make  his  ideas  realize  them- 
selves in  action.     "The  elite  of  the  intellect  constitutes 


THE  EUROPEAN  CONSCIENCE  287 

an  aristocracy  which  would  fain  replace  the  aristocracy 
of  birth.  But  the  aristocracy  of  intellect  is  apt  to  forget 
that  the  aristocracy  of  birth  won  its  privileges  with  blood. 
For  hundreds  of  years  men  have  listened  to  the  words  of 
wisdom,  but  seldom  have  they  seen  a  sage  offering  him- 
self up  to  the  sacrifice.  If  we  would  inspire  others  with 
faith  we  must  show  that  our  own  faith  is  real.  Mere 
words  do  not  suffice."  Fame  is  a  sword  as  well  as  a 
laurel  crown.  Faith  imposes  obligations.  One  who  had 
made  Jean  Christophe  utter  the  gospel  of  a  free  con- 
science, could  not,  when  the  world  had  fashioned  his 
cross,  play  the  part  of  Peter  denying  the  Lord.  He 
must  take  up  his  apostolate,  be  ready  should  need  arise 
to  face  martyrdom.  Thus,  while  almost  all  the  artists 
of  the  day,  in  their  "passion  d'abdiquer,"  in  their  mad 
desire  to  shout  with  the  crowd,  were  not  merely  extolling 
force  and  victory  as  the  masters  of  the  hour,  but  were 
actually  maintaining  that  force  was  the  very  meaning  of 
civilization,  that  victory  was  the  vital  energy  of  the 
world,  Holland  stood  forth  against  them  all,  proclaiming 
the  might  of  the  incorruptible  conscience.  "Force  is 
always  hateful  to  me,"  wrote  Holland  to  Jouve  in  this 
decisive  hour.  "If  the  world  cannot  get  on  without 
force,  it  still  behooves  me  to  refrain  from  making  terms 
with  force.  I  must  uphold  an  opposing  principle,  one 
which  will  invalidate  the  principle  of  force.  Each  must 
play  his  own  part;  each  must  obey  his  own  inward  moni- 
tor." He  did  not  fail  to  recognize  the  titanic  nature  of 
the  struggle  into  which  he  was  entering,  but  the  words 


288  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

he  had  written  in  youth  still  resounded  in  his  memory. 
"Our  first  duty  is  to  be  great,  and  to  defend  greatness 
on  earth." 

Just  as  in  those  earlier  days,  when  he  had  wished  by 
means  of  his  dramas  to  restore  faith  to  his  nation,  when 
he  had  set  up  the  images  of  the  heroes  as  examples  to 
a  petty  time,  when  throughout  a  decade  of  quiet  effort 
he  had  summoned  the  people  towards  love  and  freedom, 
so  now,  RoUand  set  to  work  alone.  He  had  no  party,  no 
newspaper,  no  influence.  He  had  nothing  but  his  pas- 
sionate enthusiasm,  and  that  indomitable  courage  to 
which  the  forlorn  hope  makes  an  irresistible  appeal. 
Alone  he  began  his  onslaught  upon  the  illusions  of  the 
multitude,  when  the  European  conscience,  hunted  with 
scorn  and  hatred  from  all  countries  and  all  hearts,  had 
taken  sanctuary  in  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    MANIFESTOES 

THE  Struggle  had  to  be  waged  by  means  of  news- 
paper articles.  Since  Holland  was  attacking 
prevalent  falsehoods,  and  their  public  expres- 
sion in  the  form  of  lying  phrases,  he  had  perforce  to  fight 
them  upon  their  own  ground.  But  the  vigor  of  his  ideas, 
the  breath  of  freedom  they  conveyed,  and  the  authority 
of  the  author's  name,  made  of  these  articles,  manifestoes 
which  spoke  to  the  whole  of  Europe  and  aroused  a 
spiritual  conflagration.  Like  electric  sparks  given  off 
from  invisible  wires,  their  energy  was  liberated  in  all 
directions,  leading  here  to  terrible  explosions  of  hatred, 
throwing  there  a  brilliant  light  into  the  depths  of  con- 
science, in  every  case  producing  cordial  excitement  in 
its  contrasted  forms  of  indignation  and  enthusiasm. 
Never  before,  perhaps,  did  newspaper  articles  exercise 
so  stupendous  an  influence,  at  once  inflammatory  and 
purifying,  as  was  exercised  by  these  two  dozen  appeals 
and  manifestoes  issued  in  a  time  of  enslavement  and 
confusion  by  a  lonely  man  whose  spirit  was  free  and 
whose  intellect  remained  unclouded. 

From  the  artistic  point  of  view  the  essays  naturally 
suff"er  by  comparison  with  Rolland's  other  writings,  care- 

289 


290  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

fully  considered  and  fully  elaborated.  Addressed  to 
the  widest  possible  public,  but  simultaneously  hampered 
by  consideration  for  the  censorship  (seeing  that  to  Hol- 
land it  was  all  important  that  the  articles  published  in 
the  ^'Journal  de  Geneve^  should  be  reproduced  in  the 
French  press),  the  ideas  had  to  be  presented  with 
meticulous  care  and  yet  at  the  same  time  to  be  hastily 
produced.  We  find  in  these  writings  marvelous  and 
ever-memorable  cries  of  suffering,  sublime  passages  of 
indignation  and  appeal.  But  they  are  a  discharge  of 
passion,  so  that  their  stylistic  merits  vary  much.  Often, 
too,  they  relate  to  casual  incidents.  Their  essential 
value  lies  in  their  ethical  bearing,  and  here  they  are  of 
incomparable  merit.  In  relation  to  Holland's  previous 
work  we  find  that  they  display,  as  it  were,  a  new  rhythm. 
They  are  characterized  by  the  emotion  of  one  who  is 
aware  that  he  is  addressing  an  audience  of  many  millions. 
The  author  was  no  longer  speaking  as  an  isolated  indi- 
vidual. For  the  first  time  he  felt  himself  to  be  the 
public  advocate  of  the  invisible  Europe. 

Will  those  of  a  later  generation,  to  whom  the  essays 
have  been  made  available  in  the  volumes  Au-dessus  de 
la  melee  and  Les  precurseurs,  be  able  to  understand 
what  they  signified  to  the  contemporary  world  at  the 
time  of  their  publication  in  the  newspapers?  The  mag- 
nitude of  a  force  cannot  be  measured  without  taking  the 
resistance  into  account;  the  significance  of  an  action 
cannot  be  understood  without  reckoning  up  the  sacrifices 
it  has  entailed.  To  understand  the  ethical  import,  the 
heroic  character,  of  these  manifestoes,  we  must  recall  to 


THE  MANIFESTOES  291 

mind  the  frenzy  of  the  opening  year  of  the  war,  the  spirit- 
ual infection  which  was  devastating  Europe,  turning  the 
whole  continent  jnto  a  madhouse.  It  has  already  become 
,.^___J3lSeiilt  to  realize  the  mental  state  of  those  days.  We 
have  to  remember  that  maxims  which  now  seem  com- 
monplace, as  for  instance  the  contention  that  we  must 
not  hold  all  the  individuals  of  a  nation  responsible  for 
the  outbreak  of  a  war,  were  then  positively  criminal, 
that  to  utter  them  was  a  punishable  offense.  We  must 
remember  that  Au-dessus  de  la  melee,  whose  trend  al- 
ready seems  to  us  a  matter  of  course,  was  officially 
denounced,  that  its  author  was  ostracised,  and  that  for 
a  considerable  period  the  circulation  of  the  essays  was 
forbidden  in  France,  while  numerous  pamphlets  at- 
tacking them  secured  wide  circulation.  In  connec- 
tion with  these  articles  we  must  always  evoke  the  atmos- 
pheric environment,  must  remember  the  silence  of 
their  appeal  amid  a  vasty  spiritual  silence.  To-day, 
readers  are  apt  to  think  that  Holland  merely  uttered  self- ' 
evident  truths,  so  that  we  recall  Schopenhauer's  mem- 
orable saying:  "On  earth,  truth  is  allotted  no  more  than 
a  brief  triumph  between  two  long  epochs,  in  one  of  which 
it  is  scouted  as  paradoxical,  while  in  the  other  it  is 
despised  as  commonplace."  To-day,  for  the  moment  at 
any  rate,  we  may  have  entered  into  a  period,  when  many 
of  Holland's  utterances  are  accounted  commonplace  be- 
cause, since  he  wrote,  they  have  become  the  small  change 
of  thousands  of  other  writers.  Yet  there  was  a  day  when 
each  of  these  words  seemed  to  cut  like  a  whip-lash.  The 
excitement  they  aroused  gives  us  the  historic  measure 


292  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

of  the  need  that  they  should  be  spoken.  The  wrath  of 
Rolland's  opponents,  of  which  the  only  remaining  record 
is  a  pile  of  pamphlets,  bears  witness  to  the  heroism  of 
him  who  was  the  first  to  take  his  stand  "above  the  battle." 
Let  us  not  forget  that  it  was  then  the  crime  of  crimes,  "de 
dire  ce  qui  est  juste  et  humain."  Men  were  still  so 
drunken  with  the  fumes  of  the  first  bloodshed  that  they 
would  have  been  fain,  as  Holland  himself  has  phrased  it, 
"to  crucify  Christ  once  again  should  he  have  risen;  to 
crucify  him  for  saying,  Love  one  another." 


CHAPTER  X 

ABOVE   THE   BATTLE 

ON  September  22,  1914,  the  essay  Au-dessus  de 
la  melee  was  published  in  "Le  Journal  de 
Geneve.'*  After  the  preliminary  skirmish 
with  Gerhart  Hauptmann,  came  this  declaration  of  war 
against  hatred,  this  foundation  stone  of  the  invisible  Eu- 
ropean church.  The  title,  "Above  the  Battle,"  has  be- 
come at  once  a  watchword  and  a  term  of  abuse;  but 
amid  the  discordant  quarrels  of  the  factions,  the  essay 
was  the  first  utterance  to  sound  a  clear  note  of  imper- 
turbable justice,  bringing  solace  to  thousands. 

It  is  animated  by  a  strange  and  tragical  emotion, 
resonant  of  the  hour  when  countless  myriads  were  bleed- 
ing and  dying,  and  among  them  many  of  Holland's 
intimate  friends.  It  is  the  outpouring  of  a  riven  heart, 
the  heart  of  one  who  would  fain  move  others,  breathing 
as  it  does  the  heroic  determination  to  try  conclusions  with 
a  world  that  has  fallen  a  prey  to  madness.  It  opens  with 
an  ode  to  the  youthful  fighters.  "0  young  men  that  shed 
your  blood  for  the  thirsty  earth  with  so  generous  a  joy! 
0  heroism  of  the  world!  What  a  harvest  for  destruction 
to  reap  under  this  splendid  summer  sun!  Young  men  of 
all  nations,  brought  into  conflict  by  a  common  ideal,  .  .  . 
all  of  you,  marching  to  your  deaths,  are  dear  to  me  .  .  . 

293 


294  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Those  years  of  skepticism  and  gay  frivolity  in  which  we 
in  France  grew  up  are  avenged  in  you  .  .  .  Conquerors 
or  conquered,  quick  or  dead,  rejoice!"  But  after  this 
ode  to  the  faithful,  to  those  who  believe  themselves  to 
be  discharging  their  highest  duty,  Holland  turns  to  con- 
sider the  intellectual  leaders  of  the  nations,  and  apostro- 
phises them  thus :  "For  what  are  you  squandering  them, 
these  living  riches,  these  treasures  of  heroism  entrusted 
to  your  hands?  What  ideal  have  you  held  up  to  the 
devotion  of  these  youths  so  eager  to  sacrifice  themselves? 
Mutual  slaughter!  A  European  war!"  He  accuses  the 
leaders  of  taking  cowardly  refuge  behind  an  idol  they 
term  fate.  Those  who  understood  their  responsibilities 
so  ill  that  they  failed  to  prevent  the  war,  inflame  and 
poison  it  now  that  it  has  begun.  A  terrible  picture.  In 
all  countries,  everything  becomes  involved  in  the  torrent; 
among  all  peoples,  there  is  the  same  ecstasy  for  that 
which  is  destroying  them.  "For  it  is  not  racial  passion 
alone  which  is  hurling  millions  of  men  blindly  one 
against  another  .  .  .  All  the  forces  of  the  spirit,  of  rea- 
son, of  faith,  of  poetry,  and  of  science,  all  have  placed 
themselves  at  the  disposal  of  4;he  armies  in  every  state. 
There  is  not  one  among  the  leaders  of  thought  in  each 
country  who  does  not  proclaim  that  the  cause  of  his 
people  is  the  cause  of  God,  the  cause  of  liberty  and  of 
human  progress."  He  mockingly  alludes  to  the  pre- 
posterous duels  between  philosophers  and  men  of  sci- 
ence; and  to  the  failure  of  what  professed  to  be  the  two 
great  internationalist  forces  of  the  age,  Christianity  and 
socialism,  to  stand  aloof  from  the  fray.     "It  would  seem, 


Romain  Rollaiul  at  the  time  of  writing  Above  the  Battle 


tijl^^^" 


ABOVE  THE  BATTLE  295 

then,  that  love  of  our  country  can  flourish  only  through 
the  hatred  of  other  countries  and  the  massacre  of  those 
who  sacrifice  themselves  in  defense  of  them.  There  is 
in  this  theory  a  ferocious  absurdity,  a  Neronian  dilet- 
tantism, which  revolts  me  to  the  very  depths  of  my  being. 
No !  Love  of  my  country  does  not  demand  that  I  should 
hate  and  slay  those  noble  and  faithful  souls  who  also 
love  theirs,  but  rather  that  I  should  honor  them  and  seek 
to  unite  with  them  for  our  common  good."  After  some 
further  discussion  of  the  attitude  of  Christians  and  of 
socialists  towards  the  war,  he  continues:  "There  was  no 
reason  for  war  between  the  western  nations;   French,  ,      . 

English,  and  German,  we  are  all  brothers  and  do  not  hate  *> ^  '^^  '^'^ 
one  another.  The  war-preaching  press  is  envenomed 
by  a  minority,  a  minority  vitally  interested  in  the  diffu- 
sion of  hatred;  but  our  peoples,  I  know,  ask  for  peace 
and  liberty,  and  for  that  alone."  It  was  a  scandal,  there- 
fore, that  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war  the  intellectual  lead- 
ers should  have  allowed  the  purity  of  their  thought  to  be 
besmirched.  It  was  monstrous  that  intelligence  should 
permit  itself  to  be  enslaved  by  the  passions  of  a  puerile 
and  absurd  policy  of  race.  Never  should  we  forget,  in  I 
the  war  now  being  waged,  the  essential  unity  of  all  our 
fatherlands.  "Humanity  is  a  symphony  of  great  col- 
lective souls.  He  who  cannot  understand  it  and  love  it 
until  he  has  destroyed  a  part  of  its  elements,  is  a  bar- 
barian .  .  .  For  the  finer  spirits  of  Europe,  there  are 
two  dwelling  places:  our  earthly  fatherland,  and  the 
City  of  God.  Of  the  one  we  are  the  guests,  of  the  other 
the  builders  ...  It  is  our  duty  to  build  the  walls  of  this 


296  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

city  ever  nigner  and  stronger,  that  it  may  aominate  the 
injustice  and  the  hatred  of  the  nations.  Then  shall  we 
have  a  refuge  wherein  the  brotherly  and  free  spirits  from 
out  all  the  world  may  assemble."  This  faith  in  a  lofty 
ideal  soars  like  a  sea-mew  over  the  ocean  of  blood. 
Holland  is  well  aware  how  little  hope  there  is  that  his 
words  can  make  themselves  audible  above  the  clamor  of 
thirty  million  warriors.  "I  know  that  such  thoughts 
have  little  chance  of  being  heard  to-day.  I  do  not  speak 
to  convince.  I  speak  only  to  solace  my  conscience. 
And  I  know  that  at  the  same  time  I  shall  solace  the  hearts 
of  thousands  of  others  who,  in  all  lands,  cannot  and  dare 
not  speak  for  themselves."  As  ever,  he  is  on  the  side 
of  the  weak,  on  the  side  of  the  minority.  His  voice 
grows  stronger,  for  he  knows  that  he  is  speaking  for  the 
silent  multitude. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    CAMPAIGN    AGAINST    HATRED 

THE  essay  Au-dessus  de  la  melee  was  the  first 
stroke  of  the  woodman's  axe  in  the  overgrown 
forest  of  hatred ;  thereupon,  a  roaring  echo  thun- 
dered from  all  sides,  reverberating  reluctantly  in  the 
newspapers.  Undismayed,  Holland  resolutely  continued 
his  work.  He  wished  to  cut  a  clearing  into  which  a  few 
sunbeams  of  reason  might  shine  through  the  gloomy  and 
suffocating  atmosphere.  His  next  essays  aimed  at 
illuminating  an  open  space  of  such  a  character.  Espe- 
cially notable  were  Inter  Arma  Caritas  (October  30, 
1914) ;  Les  idoles  (December  4,  1914) ;  Notre  prochain 
Vennemi  (March  15,  1915) ;  Le  meutre  des  elites  (June 
14,  1915).  These  were  attempts  to  give  a  voice  to  the 
silent.  "Let  us  help  the  victims!  It  is  true  that  we  can- 
not do  very  much.  In  the  everlasting  struggle  between 
good  and  evil,  the  balance  is  unequal.  We  require  a 
century  for  the  upbuilding  of  that  which  a  day  destroys. 
Nevertheless,  the  frenzy  lasts  no  more  than  a  day,  and 
the  patient  labor  of  reconstruction  is  our  daily  bread. 
This  work  goes  on  even  during  an  hour  when  the  world 
is  perishing  around  us." 

The  poet  had  at  length  come  to  understand  his  task. 

297 


298  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

It  is  useless  to  attack  the  war  directly.  Reason  can  ef- 
fect nothing  against  the  elemental  forces.  But  he  re- 
gards it  as  his  predestined  duty  to  combat  throughout  the 
war  everything  that  the  passions  of  men  lead  them  to 
undertake  for  the  deliberate  increase  of  horror,  to  combat 
the  spiritual  poison  of  the  war.  The  most  atrocious 
feature  of  the  present  struggle,  one  which  distinguishes 
it  from  all  previous  wars,  is  this  deliberate  poisoning. 
That  which  in  earlier  days  was  accepted  with  simple 
resignation  as  a  disastrous  visitation  like  the  plague,  was 
now  presented  in  a  heroic  light,  as  a  sign  of  "the  gran- 
deur of  the  age."  An  ethic  of  force,  an  ethic  of  destruc- 
tion, was  being  preached.  The  mass  struggle  of  the  na- 
tions was  being  purposely  inflamed  to  become  the  mass 
hatred  of  individuals.  Rolland,  therefore,  was  not,  as 
many  have  supposed,  attacking  the  war;  he  was  attack- 
ing the  ideology  of  the  war,  the  artificial  idolization  of 
brutality.  As  far  as  the  individual  was  concerned,  he 
attacked  the  readiness  to  accept  a  collective  morality 
constructed  solely  for  the  duration  of  the  war;  he  at- 
tacked the  surrender  of  conscience  in  face  of  the  pre- 
vailing universalization  of  falsehood;  he  attacked  the 
suspension  of  inner  freedom  which  was  advocated  until 
the  war  should  be  over. 

His  words,  therefore,  are  not  directed  against  the 
masses,  not  against  the  peoples.  These  know  not  what 
they  do;  they  are  deceived;  they  are  dumb  driven  cattle. 
The  diffusion  of  lying  has  made  it  easy  for  them  to  hate. 
"II  est  si  commode  de  ha'ir  sans  comprendre."  The 
fault  lies  with  the  inciters,  with  the  manufacturers  of  lies, 


THE  CAMPAIGN  AGAINST  HATRED     299 

with  the   intellectuals.     They   are  guilty,   seven  times 
guilty,  because,  thanks  to  their  education  and  experience, 
they  cannot  fail  to  know  the  truth  which  nevertheless  they 
repudiate;  because  from  weakness,  and  in  many  cases 
from  calculation,  they  have  surrendered  to  the  current 
of  uninstructed  opinion,  instead  of  using  their  authority 
to  deflect  this  current  into  better  channels.     Of  set  pur- 
pose, instead  of  defending  the  ideals  they  formerly  es-  : 
poused,  the  ideals  of  humanity  and  international  unity, 
they  have  revived  the  ideas  of  the  Spartans  and  of  the 
Homeric  heroes,  which  have  as  little  place  in  our  time 
as  have  spears  and  plate-armor  in  these  days  of  machine- 
gun  warfare.     Heretofore,  to  the  great  spirits  of  all  time, 
hatred  has  seemed  a  base  and  contemptible  accompani- 
ment of  war.     The  thoughtful  among  the  non-combatants 
•put  it  away  from  them  with  loathing;  the  warriors  re- 
jected the  sentiment  upon  grounds  of  chivalry.     Now, 
hatred  is  not  merely  supported  with  all  the  arguments  of 
logic,  science,  and  poesy;  but  is  actually,  in  defiance  of 
gospel  teaching,  raised  to  a  place  among  the  moral  duties, 
so  that  every  one  who  resists  the  feeling  of  collective  • 
hatred  is  branded  as  a  traitor.     Against  these  enemies  of 
the  free  spirit,  Holland  takes  up  his  parable:     "Not  only 
have  they  done  nothing  to  lessen  reciprocal  misunder- 
standing; not  only  have  they  done  nothing  to  limit  the 
diffusion  of  hate;  on  the  contrary,  with  few  exceptions, 
they  have  done  everything  in  their  power  to  make  hatred 
more  widespread  and  more  venomous.     In  large  part, 
this  war  is  their  war.     By  their  murderous  ideologies 
they  have  led  thousands  astray.     With  criminal  self- 
confidence,  unteachable  in  their  arrogance,  they  have 


300  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

driven  millions  to  death,  sacrificing  their  fellows  to  the 
phantoms  which  they,  the  intellectuals,  have  created." 
The  persons  to  whom  blame  attaches  are  those  who  know, 
or  who  might  have  known;  but  who,  from  sloth,  coward- 
ice, or  weakness,  from  desire  for  fame  or  for  some  other 
personal  advantage,  have  given  themselves  over  to  lying. 
The  hatred  breathed  by  the  intellectuals  was  a  false- 
hood. Had  it  been  a  truth,  had  it  been  a  genuine  pas- 
sion, those  who  were  inspired  with  this  feeling  would 
have  ceased  talking  and  would  themselves  have  taken  up 
arms.  Most  people  are  moved  either  by  hatred  or  by 
love,  not  by  abstract  ideas.  For  this  reason,  the  attempt 
to  sow  dissension  among  millions  of  unknown  individ- 
uals, the  attempt  to  "perpetuate"  hatred,  was  a  crime 
against  the  spirit  rather  than  against  the  flesh.  It  was  a 
deliberate  falsification  to  include  leaders  and  led,  drivers 
and  driven,  in  a  single  category;  to  generalize  Germany 
as  an  integral  object  for  hatred.  We  must  join  one  fel- 
lowship or  the  other,  that  of  the  truthtellers  or  that  of  the 
liars,  that  of  the  men  of  conscience  or  that  of  the  men 
of  phrase.  Just  as  in  Jean  Christophe,  Holland,  in  or- 
der to  show  forth  the  universally  human  fellowship,  had 
distinguished  between  the  true  France  and  the  false,  be- 
tween the  old  Germany  and  the  new;  so  now  in  wartime 
did  he  draw  attention  to  the  ominous  resemblance  be- 
tween the  war  fanatics  in  both  camps,  and  to  the  heroic 
isolation  of  those  who  were  above  the  battle  in  all  the 
^^^  belligerent  lands.  Thus  did  he  endeavor  to  fulfill  Tol- 
stoi's dictum,  that  it  is  the  function  of  the  imaginative 
writer  to  strengthen  the  ties  that  bind  men  together.     In 


THE  CAMPAIGN  AGAINST  HATRED     301 

Rolland's  comedy  Liluli,  the  "cerveaux  enchaines," 
dressed  in  various  national  uniforms,  dance  the  same 
Indian  war-dance  under  the  lash  of  Patriotism,  the 
negro  slave-driver.  There  is  a  terrible  resemblance  be- 
tween the  German  professors  and  those  of  the  Sorbonne. 
All  of  them  turn  the  same  logical  somersaults;  all  join 
in  the  same  chorus  of  hate. 

But  the  fellowship  to  which  Rolland  wishes  to  draw 
our  attention,  is  the  fellowship  of  solace.  It  is  true  that 
the  humanizing  forces  are  not  so  well  organized  as  the 
forces  of  destruction.  Free  opinion  is  gagged,  whereas 
falsehood  bellows  through  the  megaphones  of  the  press. 
Truth  has  to  be  sought  out  with  painful  labor,  for  the 
state  makes  it  its  business  to  hide  truth.  Nevertheless, 
those  who  search  perseveringly  can  discover  truth  among 
all  nations  and  among  all  races.  In  these  essays,  Rol- 
land gives  many  examples,  drawn  equally  from  French 
and  from  German  sources,  showing  that  even  in  the 
trenches,  nay,  that  especially  in  the  trenches,  thousands 
upon  thousands  are  animated  with  brotherly  feelings. 
He  publishes  letters  from  German  soldiers,  side  by  side 
with  letters  from  French  soldiers,  all  couched  in  the  same 
phraseology  of  human  friendliness.  He  tells  of  the 
women's  organizations  for  helping  the  enemy,  and  shows 
that  amid  the  cruelty  of  arms  the  same  lovingkindness  is 
displayed  on  both  sides.  He  publishes  poems  from 
either  camp,  poems  which  exhale  a  common  sentiment. 
Just  as  in  his  Vie  des  hommes  illustres  he  had  wished  to 
show  the  sufferers  of  the  world  that  they  were  not  alone, 
but  that  the  greatest  minds  of  all  epochs  were  with  them, 


302  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

so  now  does  he  attempt  to  convince  those  who  amid  the 
general  madness  are  apt  to  regard  themselves  as  out- 
casts because  they  do  not  share  the  fire  and  fury  of  the 
newspapers  and  the  professors,  that  they  have  everywhere 
silent  brothers  of  the  spirit.  Once  more,  as  of  old,  he 
wishes  to  unite  the  invisible  community  of  the  free.  "I 
feel  the  same  joy  when  I  find  the  fragile  and  valiant  flow- 
ers of  human  pity  piercing  the  icy  crust  of  hatred  that 
covers  Europe,  as  we  feel  in  these  chilly  March  days 
when  we  see  the  first  flowers  appear  above  the  soil. 
They  show  that  the  warmth  of  life  persists  below  the  sur- 
face, and  that  soon  nothing  will  prevent  its  rising  again," 
Undismayed  he  continues  on  his  "humble  pelerinage," 
endeavoring  "to  discover,  beneath  the  ruins,  the  hearts  of 
:1  those  who  have  remained  faithful  to  the  old  ideal  of 
i]  human  brotherhood.  What  a  melancholy  joy  it  is  to 
come  to  their  aid."  For  the  sake  of  this  consolation,  for 
the  sake  of  this  hope,  he  gives  a  new  significance  even  to 
war,  which  he  has  hated  and  dreaded  from  early  child- 
hood. "To  war  we  owe  one  painful  benefit,  in  that  it 
has  served  to  bring  together  those  of  all  nations  who 
refuse  to  share  the  prevailing  sentiments  of  national 
hatred.  It  has  steeled  their  energies,  has  inspired  them 
with  an  indefatigable  will.  How  mistaken  are  those  who 
imagine  that  the  ideas  of  human  brotherhood  have  been 
stifled  .  .  .  Not  for  a  moment  do  I  doubt  the  coming 
unity  of  the  European  fellowship.  That  unity  will  be 
realized.     The  war  is  but  its  baptism  of  blood." 

Thus  does  the  good  Samaritan,  the  healer  of  souls,  en- 
deavor to  bring  to  the  despairing  that  hope  which  is  the 


THE  CAMPAIGN  AGAINST  HATRED     303 

bread  of  life.  Perchance  Rolland  speaks  with  a  confi- 
dence that  runs  somewhat  in  advance  of  his  innermost 
convictions.  But  he  only  who  realized  the  intense  yearn- 
ings of  the  innumerable  persons  who  at  that  date  were 
imprisoned  in  their  respective  fatherlands,  barred  in  the 
cages  of  the  censorships,  he  alone  can  realize  the  value 
to  such  poor  captives  of  Holland's  manifestoes  of  faith, 
words  free  from  hatred,  bringing  at  length  a  message  of 
brotherhood. 


CHAPTER  XII 

OPPONENTS 

FROM  the  first,  Rolland  knew  perfectly  well  that 
in  a  time  when  party  feeling  runs  high,  no  task 
can  be  more  ungrateful  than  that  of  one  who 
advocates  impartiality.  "The  combatants  are  to-day 
united  in  one  thing  only,  in  their  hatred  for  those  who 
refuse  to  join  in  any  hymn  of  hate.  Whoever  does  not 
share  the  common  delirium,  is  suspect.  And  nowadays, 
when  justice  cannot  spare  the  time  for  thorough  investiga- 
tion, every  suspect  is  considered  tantamount  to  a  traitor. 
He  who  undertakes  in  wartime  to  defend  peace  on  earth, 
must  realize  that  he  is  staking  his  faith,  his  name,  his 
tranquillity,  his  repute,  and  even  his  friendships.  But 
of  what  value  would  be  a  conviction  on  behalf  of  which 
a  man  would  take  no  risks?"  Rolland  was  likewise 
aware  that  the  most  dangerous  of  all  positions  is  that  be- 
tween the  fronts,  but  this  certainty  of  danger  was  but 
a  tonic  to  his  conscience.  "If  it  be  really  needful,  as 
the  proverb  assures  us,  to  prepare  for  war  in  time  of 
peace,  it  is  no  less  needful  to  prepare  for  peace  in  time 
of  war.  In  my  view,  the  latter  role  is  assigned  to  those 
who  stand  outside  the  struggle,  and  whose  mental  life 
has  brought  them  into  unusually  close  contact  with  the 
world-all.     I  speak  of  the  members  of  that  little  lay 

304 


OPPONENTS  305 

church,  of  those  who  have  been  exceptionally  well  able 
to  maintain  their  faith  in  the  unity  of  human  thought, 
of  those  for  whom  all  men  are  sons  of  the  same  father. 
If  it  should  chance  that  we  are  reviled  for  holding  this 
conviction,  the  reviling  is  in  liuth  an  honor  to  us,  and 
we  may  be  satisfied  to  know  that  we  shall  earn  the  ap- 
probation of  posterity." 

It  is  plain  that  Rolland  is  forearmed  against  opposi- 
tion. Nevertheless,  the  fierceness  of  the  onslaughts  ex- 
ceeded all  expectation.  The  first  rumblings  of  the  storm 
came  from  Germany.  The  passage  in  the  Letter  to  Ger- 
hart  Hauptmann,  "are  you  the  sons  of  Goethe  or  of 
Attila,"  and  similar  utterances,  aroused  angry  echoes. 
A  dozen  or  so  professors  and  scribblers  hastened  to 
"chastise"  French  arrogance.  In  the  columns  of  "Z)ie 
Deutsche  Rundschau,"  a  narrow-minded  pangerman  dis- 
closed the  great  secret  that  under  the  mask  of  neutrality 
Jean  Christophe  had  been  a  most  dangerous  French  at- 
tack upon  the  German  spirit. 

French  champions  were  no  less  eager  to  enter  the  lists 
as  soon  as  the  publication  of  the  essay  Au-dessus  de  la 
melee  was  reported.  Difficult  as  it  seems  to  realize  the 
fact  to-day,  the  French  newspapers  were  forbidden  to 
reprint  this  manifesto,  but  fragments  became  known  to 
the  public  in  the  attacks  wherein  Rolland  was  pilloried 
as  an  antipatriot.  Professors  at  the  Sorbonne  and  his- 
torians of  renown  did  not  shrink  from  leveling  such  ac- 
cusations. Soon  the  campaign  was  systematized. 
Newspaper  articles  were  followed  by  pamphlets,  and 
ultimately  by  a  large  volume  from  the  pen  of  a  carpet 


306  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

hero.  This  book  was  furnished  with  a  thousand  proofs, 
with  photographs,  and  quotations;  it  was  a  complet  dos- 
sier, avowedly  intended  to  supply  materials  for  a  prose- 
cution. There  was  no  lack  of  the  basest  calumnies.  It 
was  asserted  that  since  the  beginning  of  the  war  Holland 
had  joined  the  German  society  "Neues  Vaterland";  that 
he  was  a  contributor  to  German  newspapers;  that  his 
American  publisher  wns  a  German  agent.  In  one  pam- 
phlet he  was  accused  of  deliberately  falsifying  dates. 
Yet  more  incriminatory  charges  could  be  read  between 
the  lines.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  newspapers  of 
advanced  tendencies  and  comparatively  small  circula- 
tion, the  whole  of  the  French  press  combined  to  boycott 
Rolland.  Not  one  of  the  Parisian  journals  ventured  to 
publish  a  reply  to  the  charges.  A  professor  triumph- 
antly announced:  "Get  auteur  ne  se  lit  plus  en 
France."  His  former  associates  withdrew  in  alarm 
from  the  tainted  member  of  the  flock.  One  of  his  old- 
est friends,  the  "ami  de  la  premiere  heure,"  to  whom 
Rolland  had  dedicated  an  earlier  work,  deserted  at  this 
decisive  hour,  and  canceled  the  publication  of  a  book 
upon  Rolland  which  was  already  in  type.  The  French 
government  likewise  began  to  watch  Rolland  closely, 
dispatching  agents  to  collect  "materials."  A  number 
of  "defeatist"  trails  were  obviously  aimed  in  part  at 
Rolland,  whose  essay  was  publicly  stigmatized  as 
"abominable"  by  Lieutenant  Mornet,  the  tiger  of  these 
prosecutions.  Nothing  but  the  authority  of  his  name, 
the  inviolability  of  his  public  life,  and  the  fact  that  he 
was  a  lonely  fighter  (this  making  it  impossible  to  show 


OPPONENTS  307 

that  he  had  any  suspect  associations),  frustrated  the 
well-prepared  plan  to  put  Holland  in  the  dock  among 
adventurers  and  petty  spies. 

All  this  lunacy  is  incomprehensible  unless  we  recon- 
struct the  forcing-house  atmo  phere  of  that  year.  It  is 
difficult  to-day,  even  from  a  study  of  all  the  pamphlets 
and  books  bearing  on  the  question,  to  grasp  the  way  in 
which  Holland's  fellow-countrymen  had  become  con- 
vinced that  he  was  an  antipatriot.  From  his  own  writ- 
ings, it  is  impossible  for  the  most  fanciful  brain  to  ex- 
tract the  ingredients  for  a  "cas  Holland."  From  a  study 
of  his  own  writings  alone  it  is  impossible  to  understand 
the  frenzy  felt  by  all  the  intellectuals  of  France  towards 
this  lonely  exile,  who  tranquilly  and  with  a  full  sense  of 
responsibility  continued  to  develop  his  ideas.  i 

In  the  eyes  of  the  patriots,  Holland's  first  crime  was 
that  he  openly  discussed  the  moral  problems  of  the  war. 
"On  ne  discute  pas  la  patrie."  The  first  axiom  of  war 
ethics  is  that  those  who  cannot  or  will  not  shout  with 
the  crowd  must  hold  their  peace.  Soldiers  must  never  be 
taught  to  think;  they  must  only  be  incited  to  hate.  A  lie 
which  promotes  enthusiasm  is  worth  more  in  wartime  than 
the  best  of  truths.  In  imitation  of  the  principles  of  the 
Catholic  church,  reflection,  doubt,  is  deemed  a  crime 
against  the  infallible  dogma  of  the  fatherland.  It  was 
enough  that  Holland  should  wish  to  turn  things  over  in 
his  mind,  instead  of  unquestioningly  affirming  the  cur- 
rent political  theses.  Thereby  he  abandoned  the  "atti- 
tude frangaise";  thereby  he  was  stamped  as  "neutre." 
In  those  days  "neutre"  was  a  good  rime  to  "traitre." 


308  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

/  Rolland's  second  crime  was  that  he  desired  to  be  just 
/  to  all  mankind,  that  he  continued  to  regard  the  enemy  as 
human  beings,  that  among  them  he  distinguished  between 
guilty  and  not  guilty,  that  he  had  as  much  compassion 
for  German  sufferers  as  for  French,  that  he  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  refer  to  the  Germans  as  brothers.  The  dogma  of 
patriotism  prescribed  that  for  the  duration  of  the  war  the 
feelings  of  humanitarianism  should  be  stifled.  Jus- 
tice should  be  put  away  on  the  top  shelf,  to  keep  com- 
pany there,  until  victory  had  been  secured,  with  the 
divine  command,  Thou  shalt  not  kill.  One  of  the  pam- 
phlets against  Holland  bears  as  its  motto,  "Pendant  une 
guerre  tout  ce  qu'on  donne  de  I'amour  a  I'humanite,  on 
le  vole  a  la  patrie" — though  it  must  be  observed  that 
from  the  outlook  of  those  who  share  Rolland's  views,  the 
order  of  the  terms  might  well  be  inverted. 

The  third  crime,  the  offense  which  seemed  most  un- 
pardonable of  all,  and  the  one  most  dangerous  to  the 
state,  was  that  Rolland  refused  to  regard  a  military  vic- 
tory as  likely  to  furnish  the  elixir  of  morality,  to  pro- 
mote spiritual  regeneration,  to  bring  justice  upon  earth. 
Rolland's  sin  lay  in  holding  that  a  just  and  bloodless 
peace,  a  complete  reconciliation,  a  fraternal  union  of 
the  European  nations,  would  be  more  fruitful  of  blessing 
than  an  enforced  peace,  which  could  only  sow  the 
dragon's  teeth  of  hatred  and  of  new  wars.  In  France 
at  this  date,  those  who  wished  to  fight  the  war  to  a  finish, 
to  fight  until  the  enemy  had  been  utterly  crushed,  coined 
the  term  "defeatist"  for  those  who  desired  peace  to  be 
based   upon   a   reasonable   understanding.     Thus   was 


OPPONENTS  309 

paralleled  the  German  terminology,   which   spoke   of 
"Flaumachem"    (slackers)    and    of    "Schmachfriede" 
(shameful    peace).     RoUand,    who    had    devoted    the 
whole  of  his  life  to  the  elucidation  of  moral  laws  higher 
than  those  of  force,  was  stigmatized  as  one  who  would 
poison  the  morale  of  the  armies,   as  "I'initiateur  du 
defaitisme."     To  the  militarists,  he  seemed  to  be  the 
last  representative  of  "dying  Renanism,"  to  be  the  cen- 
ter of  a  moral  power,   and  for  this  reason  they  en- 
deavored to  represent  his  ideas  as  nonsensical,  to  depict 
him  as  a  Frenchman  who  desired  the  defeat  of  France. 
Yet  his  words  stood  unchallenged:     "I  wish  France  to 
be  loved.     I  wish  France  to  be  victorious,  not  through 
force;  not  solely  through  right  (even  that  would  be  too 
harsh) ;  but  through  the  superiority  of  a  great  heart.     I 
wish  that  France  were  strong  enough  to  fight  without 
hatred;  strong  enough  to  regard  even  those  whom  she 
must  strike  down,  as  her  brothers,  as  erring  brothers,  to 
whom  she  must  extend  her  fullest  sympathy  as  soon  as 
she  has  put  it  beyond  their  power  to  injure  her."     Rol- 
land  made  no  attempt  to  answer  even  the  most  calumni- 
ous of  attacks.     He  quietly  let  the  invectives  pass,  know- 
ing that  the  thought  which  he  felt  himself  commissioned 
to  announce,  was  inviolable  and  imperishable.     Never  i 
had  he  fought  men,  but  only  ideas.     The  hostile  ideas,  ' 
in  this  case,  had  long  since  been  answered  by  the  figures 
of  his  own  creation.     They  had  been  answered  by  Oli-   j 
vier,  the  free  Frenchman  who  hated  hatred;  by  Faber, 
the  Girondist,  to  whom  conscience  stood  higher  than  the 
arguments  of  the  patriots;  by  Adam  Lux,  who  compas- 


# 


310  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

sionately  asked  his  fanatical  opponent,  "N'es  tu  pas 
fatigue  de  ta  haine";  by  Teulier,  and  by  all  the  great 
characters  through  whom  during  more  than  two  decades 
he  had  been  giving  expression  to  his  outlook  upon  the 
struggle  of  the  day.  He  was  unperturbed  at  standing 
alone  against  almost  the  entire  nation.  He  recalled 
Chamfort's  saying,  "There  are  times  when  public  opinion 
is  the  worst  of  all  possible  opinions."  The  immeasur- 
able wrath,  the  hysterical  frenzy  of  his  opponents,  con- 
firmed his  conviction  that  he  was  right,  for  he  felt  that 
their  clamor  for  force  betrayed  their  sense  of  the  weak- 
ness of  their  own  arguments.  Smilingly  he  contem- 
plated their  artificially  inflamed  anger,  addressing  them 
in  tlie  words  of  his  own  Clerambault:  "You  say  that 
yours  is  the  better  way?  The  only  good  way?  Very 
well,  take  your  own  path,  and  leave  me  to  take  mine. 
I  make  no  attempt  to  compel  you  to  follow  me.  I 
merely  show  you  which  way  I  am  going.  What  are  you 
so  excited  about?  Perhaps  at  the  bottom  of  your  hearts 
you  are  afraid  that  my  way  is  the  right  one?" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FRIENDS 

AS  soon  as  he  had  uttered  his  first  words,  a  void 
formed  round  this  brave  man.  As  Ver- 
haeren  finely  phrased  it,  he  positively  loved  to 
encounter  danger,  whereas  most  people  shun  danger. 
His  oldest  friends,  those  who  had  known  his  writings 
and  his  character  from  youth  upwards,  left  him  in  the 
lurch;  prudent  folk  quietly  turned  their  backs  on  him; 
newspaper  editors  and  publishers  refused  him  hospi- 
tality. For  the  moment,  Holland  seemed  to  be  alone. 
But,  as  he  had  written  in  Jean  Christophe,  "A  great  soul  udAJ^ 

is  never  alone.  Abandoned  by  friends,  such  a  one 
makes  new  friends,  and  surrounds  himself  with  a  circle 
of  that  aff'ection  of  which  he  is  himself  full." 

Necessity,  the  touchstone  of  conscience,  had  deprived 
him  of  friends,  but  had  also  brought  him  friends.  It  is 
true  that  their  voices  were  hardly  audible  amid  the 
clangor  of  the  opponents.  The  war-makers  had  control 
of  all  the  channels  of  publicity.  They  roared  hatred 
through  the  megaphones  of  the  press.  Friends  could  do 
no  more  than  give  expression  to  a  few  cautious  words  in 
such  petty  periodicals  as  could  slip  through  the  meshes 
of  the  censorship.  Enemies  formed  a  compact  mass, 
flowing  to  the  attack  in  a  huge  wave  (whose  waters  were 

311 


312  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

ultimately  to  be  dispersed  in  the  morass  of  oblivion) ; 
his  friends  crystallized  slowly  and  secretly  around  his 
ideas,  but  they  were  steadfast.  His  enemies  were  a 
regiment  advancing  fiercely  to  the  attack  at  the  word  of 
command;  his  friends  were  a  fellowship,  working  tran- 
quilly, and  united  only  through  love. 

The  friends  in  Paris  had  the  hardest  task.  It  was 
barely  possible  for  them  to  communicate  with  him 
openly.  Half  of  their  letters  to  him  and  half  of  his 
replies  were  lost  on  the  frontier.  As  from  a  beleaguered 
fortress,  they  hailed  the  liberator,  the  man  who  was 
freely  proclaiming  to  the  world  the  ideals  which  they 
were  forbidden  to  utter.  Their  only  possible  way  of 
defending  their  ideas  was  to  defend  the  man.  In  Hol- 
land's own  fatherland,  Amedee  Dunois,  Femand  Des- 
pres,  Georges  Pioch,  Renaitour,  Rouanet,  Jacques  Mes- 
nil,  Gaston  Thiesson,  Marcel  Martinet,  and  Severine, 
boldly  championed  him  against  calumny.  A  valiant 
woman,  Marcelle  Capy,  raised  the  standard,  naming 
her  book  Une  voix  de  femme  dans  la  melee.  Separ- 
ated from  him  by  the  blood-stained  sea,  they  looked  to- 
wards him  as  towards  a  distant  lighthouse  upon  the  rock, 
and  showed  their  brothers  the  signal  of  hope. 

In  Geneva  there  formed  round  him  a  group  of  young 
writers,  disciples  and  friends,  winning  strength  from 
his  strength.  P.  J.  Jouve  author  of  Vous  etes  des 
hommes  and  Danse  des  morts,  glowing  with  anger  and 
with  love  of  goodness,  suffering  intensely  at  witnessing 
the  injustice  of  the  world,  Olivier  redivivus,  gave  expres- 
sion in  his  poems  to  his  hatred  for  force.     Rene  Arcos, 


FRIENDS  313 

who  like  Jouve  had  realized  all  the  horror  of  war  and 
who  hated  war  no  less  intensely,  had  a  clearer  compre- 
hension of  the  dramatic  moment,  was  more  thoughtful 
than  Jouve,  but  equally  simple  and  kindhearted.  Arcos 
extolled  the  European  ideal;  Charles  Baudouin  the  ideal 
of  eternal  goodness.  Franz  Masereel,  the  Belgian  ar- 
tist, developed  his  humanist  plaint  in  a  series  of  mag- 
nificent woodcuts.  Guilbeaux,  zealot  for  the  social  rev- 
olution, ever  ready  to  fight  like  a  gamecock  against  au- 
thority, founded  his  monthly  review  "demain,"  which 
was  a  faithful  representative  of  the  European  spirit  for 
a  time,  until  it  succumbed  because  of  its  passion  for 
the  Russian  revolution.  Charles  Baudouin  founded  the 
monthly  review,  "Le  Carmel,"  providing  a  city  of  refuge 
for  the  persecuted  European  spirit,  and  a  platform  upon 
which  the  poets  and  imaginative  writers  of  all  lands 
could  assemble  under  the  banner  of  humanity.  Jean 
Debrit  in  "La  Feuille"  combated  the  partisanship  of  the 
Latin  Swiss  press  and  attacked  the  war.  Claude  de 
Maguet  founded  "Les  Tablettes,"  which,  through  the 
boldness  of  its  contributors  and  through  the  drawings  of 
Masereel,  became  the  most  vigorous  periodical  in  Swit- 
zerland. A  little  oasis  of  independence  came  into  ex- 
istence, and  hither  the  breezes  from  all  quarters  wafted 
greetings  from  the  distance.  Here  alone  was  it  pos- 
sible to  breathe  a  European  air. 

The  most  remarkable  feature  of  this  circle  was  that, 
thanks  to  Rolland,  enemy  brethren  were  not  excluded 
from  spiritual  fellowship.  Whereas  everywhere  else 
people  were  infected  with  the  hysteria  of  mass  hatred 


314  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

or  were  terrified  lest  they  should  expose  themselves  to 
suspicion,  and  therefore  avoided  their  sometime  inti- 
mates of  enemy  countries  like  the  pestilence  should  they 
chance  to  meet  them  in  the  streets  of  some  neutral  city, 
at  a  time  when  relatives  were  afraid  to  exchange  letters 
of  enquiry  regarding  the  life  or  death  of  those  of  their 
own  blood,  Holland  would  not  for  a  moment  deny  his 
German  friends.  Never,  indeed,  had  he  shown  more 
love  to  those  among  them  who  remained  faithful,  at  an 
epoch  when  to  love  them  was  dangerous.  He  made 
himself  known  to  them  in  public,  and  wrote  to  them 
freely.  His  words  concerning  these  friendships  will 
never  be  forgotten:  "Yes,  I  have  German  friends;  just 
as  I  have  French,  English,  and  Italian  friends;  just  as  I 
have  friends  among  the  members  of  every  race.  They 
are  my  wealth,  which  I  am  proud  of,  and  which  I  seek 
to  preserve.  If  a  man  has  been  so  fortunate  as  to  en- 
counter loyal  souls,  persons  with  whom  he  can  share 
his  most  intimate  thoughts,  persons  with  whom  he  is  con- 
nected by  brotherly  ties,  these  ties  are  sacred,  and  the 
hour  of  trial  is  the  last  of  hours  in  which  they  should 
be  rent  asunder.  How  cowardly  would  be  the  refusal 
to  recognize  these  friends,  in  deference  to  the  impudent 
demand  of  a  public  opinion  which  has  no  rights  over  our 
feelings.  .  .  .  How  painful,  how  tragical,  these  friend- 
ships are  at  such  a  moment,  the  letters  will  show  when 
they  are  published.  But  it  is  precisely  by  means  of 
such  friendships  that  we  can  defend  ourselves  against 
hatred,  more  murderous  than  war,  for  it  poisons  the 


FRIENDS  315 

wounds  of  war,  and  harms  the  hater  equally  with  the  ob- 
ject of  hate." 

Immeasurable  is  the  debt  which  friends  and  num- 
berless unseen  companions  in  adversity  owe  to  Holland 
for  his  brave  and  free  attitude.     He  set  an  example  to  "I 
all  those  who,  though  they  shared  his  sentiments,  were    I 
isolated  in  obscurity,  and  who  needed  some  such  point   / 
of   crystallization   before   their  thoughts   and   feelings  / 
could  be  consolidated.     It  was  above  all  for  those  who  / 
were  not  yet  sure  of  themselves  that  this   archetypal! 
personality  provided  so  splendid  a  stimulus.     Holland's  | 
steadfastness  put  younger  men  to  shame.     In  his  com-* 
pany  we  were  stronger,  freer,  more  genuine,  more  un- 
prejudiced.    Human  lovingkindness,  transfigured  by  his 
ardor,  radiated  like  a  flame.     What  bound  us  together 
was  not  that  we  chanced  to  think  alike,  but  a  passionate 
exaltation,  which  often  became  a  positive  fanaticism 
for  brotherhood.     We  foregathered  in  defiance  of  pub- 
lic opinion  and  in  defiance  of  the  laws  of  the  belligerent 
states,  exchanging  confidences  without  reserve;  our  com- 
radeship exposed  us  to  all  sorts  of  suspicions;  these 
things  served  but  to  draw  us  closer  together,  and  in  many 
memorable  hours  we  felt  with  a  veritable  intoxication 
the  unprecedented  quality  of  our  friendship.     We  were 
but  a  couple  of  dozen  who  thus  came  together  in  Switzer- 
land; Frenchmen,  Germans,   Russians,  Austrians,   and 
Italians.     We  few  were  the  only  ones  among  the  hun- 
dreds of  millions  who  could  look  one  another  in  the 
face  without  hatred,  exchanging  our  innermost  thoughts./ 


316  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

This  little  troop  was  all  that  then  constituted  Europe. 
Our  unity,  a  grain  of  dust  in  the  storm  which  was  rag- 
ing through  the  world,  was  perhaps   the   seed  of  the 
coming  fraternity.     How  strong,  how  happy,  how  grate- 
ful did  we  often  feel.     For  without  Holland,  without 
I  the  genius  of  his  friendship,  without  the  connecting  link 
Y     I  constituted  by  his  disposition,  we  should  never  have  at- 
/  tained  to  freedom  and  security.     Each  of  us  loved  him 
in  a  different  way,  and  all  of  us  regarded  him  with 
equal  veneration.     To  the  French,  he  was  the  purest 
spiritual  expression  of  their  homeland;  to  us,  he  was  the 
wonderful  counterpart  of  the  best  in  our  own  world. 
In  this  circle  that  formed  round  Rolland  there  was  the 
1^  sense  of  fellowship  which  has  always  characterized  a 
religious  community  in  the  making.     The  hostility  be- 
tween our  respective  nations,  and  the  consciousness  of 
danger,  fired  our  friendship  to  the  pitch  of  exaggera- 
tion; while  the  example  of  the  bravest  and  freest  man 
we  had  ever  known,  brought  out  all  that  was  best  in  us. 
When  we  were  near  him,  we  felt  ourselves  to  be  in  the 
heart  of  true  Europe.     Whoever  was  able  to  know  Hol- 
land's inmost  essence,  acquired,  as  in  the  ancient  saga, 
new  energy  for  the  wrestle  with  brute  force. 


\ 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    LETTERS 

ALL  that  Rolland  gave  in  those  days  to  his  friends 
and  collaborators  of  the  European  fellowship, 
all  that  he  gave  by  his  immediate  proximity, 
was  but  a  part  of  his  nature.  For  beyond  these  per- 
sonal limits,  he  diffused  a  consolidating  and  helpful  in- 
fluence. Whoever  turned  to  him  with  a  question,  an 
anxiety,  a  distress,  or  a  suggestion,  received  an  answer. 
In  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  letters  he  spread  the  mes- 
sage of  brotherhood,  splendidly  fulfilling  the  vow  he 
had  made  a  quarter  of  a  century  earlier,  at  the  time 
when  Tolstoi's  letter  had  brought  him  spiritual  healing. 
In  Rolland's  self  there  had  come  to  life,  not  only  Jean 
Christophe  the  believer,  but  likewise  Leo  Tolstoi,  the 
great  consoler. 

Unknown  to  the  world,  he  shouldered  a  stupendous 
burden  during  the  five  years  of  the  war.  For  whoever 
found  himself  in  revolt  against  the  time  and  in  con- 
flict with  the  prevailing  miasma  of  falsehood,  whoever 
needed  counsel  in  a  matter  of  conscience,  whoever  wanted 
aid,  knew  where  he  could  turn  for  what  he  sought.  Who 
else  in  Europe  inspired  such  confidence?     The  unknown 

friends  of  Jean  Christophe,  the  nameless  brothers  of 

317 


318  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Olivier,  hidden  in  out-of-the-way  parts,  knowing  no  one 
to  whom  they  could  whisper  their  doubts — in  whom  could 
they  better  confide  than  in  this  man  who  had  first  brought 
them  tidings  of  goodness?  They  sent  him  requests,  sub- 
mitted proposals,  disclosed  the  turmoil  of  their  con- 
sciences. Soldiers  wrote  to  him  from  the  trenches; 
mothers  penned  letters  to  him  in  secret.  Many  of  the 
writers  did  not  venture  to  give  their  names,  merely  wish- 
ing to  send  a  message  of  sympathy  and  to  inscribe  them- 
selves citizens  of  that  invisible  "republic  of  free  souls" 
which  the  author  of  Jean  Christophe  had  founded  amid 
the  warring  nations.  Rolland  accepted  the  infinite  labor 
of  being  the  centralizing  point  and  administrator  of  all 
these  distresses  and  plaints,  of  being  the  recipient  of  all 
these  confessions,  of  being  the  consoler  of  a  world  di- 
vided against  itself.  Wherever  there  was  a  stirring  of 
European,  of  universally  human  sentiment,  Rolland  did 
his  best  to  receive  and  sustain  it;  he  was  the  crossways 
towards  which  all  these  roads  converged.  At  the  same 
time  he  was  continuously  in  communication  with  leading 
representatives  of  the  European  faith,  with  those  of  all 
{  lands  who  had  remained  loyal  to  the  free  spirit.  He 
studied  the  periodicals  of  the  day  for  messages  of  rec- 
onciliation. Wherever  a  man  or  a  work  was  devoted 
to  the  reconsolidation  of  Europe,  Rolland's  help  was 
ready. 

These  hundreds  and  thousands  of  letters  combine  to 
form  an  ethical  achievement  such  as  has  not  been  paral- 
leled by  any  previous  writer.  They  brought  happiness 
to  countless  solitary  souls,  strength  to  the  wavering,  hope 


THE  LETTERS  319 

to  the  despairing.  Never  was  the  poet's  mission  more 
nobly  fulfilled.  Considered  as  works  of  art,  these  let- 
ters, many  of  which  have  already  been  published,  are 
among  the  finest  and  maturest  of  Holland's  literary  crea- 
tions. To  bring  solace  is  the  most  intimate  purpose  of 
his  art.  Here,  when  speaking  as  man  to  man  he  can 
give  himself  without  stint,  he  displays  a  rhythmical  en- 
ergy, an  ardor  of  lovingkindness,  which  makes  many  of 
the  letters  rank  with  the  loveliest  poems  of  our  time. 
The  sensitive  modesty  which  often  makes  him  reserved 
in  conversation,  was  no  longer  a  hindrance.  The  let- 
ters are  frank  confessions,  wherein  his  free  spirit  con- 
verses freely  with  its  fellows,  disclosing  the  author's 
goodness,  his  passionate  emotion.  That  which  is  so  gen- 
erously poured  forth  for  the  benefit  of  unknown  cor- 
respondents, is  the  most  intimate  essence  of  his  nature. 
Like  Colas  Breugnon  he  can  say:  "Voila  mon  plus 
beau  travail:  les  ames  que  j'ai  sculptees." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    COUNSELOR 

DURING  these  years,  many  people,  young  for  the 
I  most  part,  came  to  Rolland  for  advice  in  mat- 
ters of  conscience.  They  asked  whether,  see- 
ing that  their  convictions  were  opposed  to  war,  they 
ought  to  refuse  military  service,  in  accordance  with  the 
teaching  of  Tolstoi,  and  following  the  example  of  the 
conscientious  objectors;  or  whether  they  should  obey 
the  biblical  precept.  Resist  not  evil.  They  enquired 
whether  they  should  take  an  open  stand  against  the  in- 
justices committed  by  their  country,  or  whether  they 
should  endure  in  silence.  Others  besought  spiritual 
counsel  in  their  troubles  of  conscience.  All  who  came 
seemed  to  imagine  that  they  were  coming  to  one  who 
possessed  a  maxim,  a  fixed  principle  concerning  conduct 
in  relation  to  the  war,  a  wonder-working  moral  elixir 
Avhich  he  could  dispense  in  suitable  doses. 

To  all  these  enquiries  Rolland  returned  the  same  an- 
swer: "Follow  your  conscience.  Seek  out  your  own 
truth  and  realize  it.  There  is  no  ready-made  truth,  no 
rigid  formula,  which  one  person  can  hand  over  to  an- 
other.    Each  must  create  truth  for  himself,  according 

to  his  own  model.     There  is  no  other  rule  of  moral  con- 

320 


THE  COUNSELOR  321 

duct  than  that  a  man  should  seek  his  own  light  and 
should  be  guided  by  it  even  against  the  world.     He    ; 
who  lays  down  his  arms  and  accepts  imprisonment,  does    | 
rightly  when  he  follows  the  inner  light,   and   is  not    j 
prompted  by  vanity  or  by  simple   imitativeness.     He    ! 
likewise  is  right,  who  takes  up  arms  with  no  intention   ! 
to  use  them  in  earnest,  who  thus  cheats  the  state  that  he  ,' 
may  propagate  his  ideal  and  save  his  inner  freedom — 
provided  always  he  acts  in  accordance  with  his  own  , 
nature."     Rolland  declared  that  the  one  essential  was 
that  a  man  should  believe  in  his  own  faith.     He  ap- 
proved the  patriot  desirous  of  dying  for  his  country, 
and  he  approved  the  anarchist  who  claimed  freedom 
from  all  governmental  authority.     There  was  no  other 
maxim  than  that  of  faith  in  one's  own  faith.     The  only 
man  who  did  wrong,  the  only  man  who  acted  falsely, 
was  he  who  allowed  himself  to  be  swept  away  by  an- 
other's ideals,  he  who,  influenced  by  the  intoxication  of 
the  crowd,  performed  actions  which  conflicted  with  his 
own  nature.     A  typical  instance  was  that  of  Ludwig 
Frank,  the  socialist,  the  advocate  of  a  Franco-German 
understanding,  who,  deciding  to  serve  his  party  instead 
of  serving  his  own  ideal,  volunteered  at  the  outbreak  of 
the  war,  and  died  for  the  ideals  of  his  opponent,  for  the 
ideals  of  militarism. 

There  is  but  one  truth,  such  was  Holland's  answer  to 
all.     The  only  truth  is  that  which  a  man  finds  within 
himself  and  recognizes  as  his  very  own.     Any  other 
would-be  truth  is  self-deception.     What  appears  to  be     jL/f"^ 
egoism,  serves  humanity.     "He  who  would  be  useful  to 


322  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

others,  must  above  all  remain  free.  Even  love  avails 
nothing,  if  the  one  who  loves  be  a  slave."  Death  for  the 
fatherland  is  worthless  unless  he  who  sacrifices  himself 
believes  in  his  fatherland  as  in  a  god.  To  evade  mili- 
tary service  is  cowardice  in  one  who  lacks  courage  to 
proclaim  himself  a  sanspatrie.  There  are  no  true  ideas 
other  than  those  which  spring  from  inner  experience; 
there  are  no  deeds  worth  doing  other  than  those  which 
are  the  outcome  of  fully  responsible  reflection.  He  who 
would  serve  mankind,  must  not  blindly  obey  the  argu- 
ments of  a  stranger.  We  cannot  regard  as  a  moral  act 
anything  which  is  done  simply  through  imitativeness,  or 
in  consequence  of  another's  persuasion,  or  (as  almost 
universally  under  modern  war  stresses)  through  the  sug- 
gestive influence  of  mass  illusion.  "A  man's  first  duty 
is  to  be  himself,  to  remain  himself,  at  the  cost  of  self- 
sacrifice." 

RoUand  did  not  fail  to  recognize  the  difficulty,  the 
rarity,  of  such  free  acts.  He  recalled  Emerson's  saying: 
"Nothing  is  more  rare  in  any  man,  than  an  act  of  his 
own."  But  was  not  the  unfree,  untrue  thinking  of  the 
masses,  the  inertia  of  the  mass  conscience,  the  prime 
cause  of  our  present  troubles?  Would  the  war  between 
European  brethren  have  ever  broken  out  if  every  towns- 
man, every  countryman,  every  artist,  had  looked  within 
to  enquire  whether  the  mines  of  Morocco  and  the  swamps 
of  Albania  were  truly  precious  to  him?  Would  there 
have  been  a  war  if  every  one  had  asked  himself  whether 
he  really  hated  his  brothers  across  the  frontier  as  ve- 
hemently as  the  newspapers  and  the  professional  poli- 


THE  COUNSELOR  323 

ticians  would  have  him  believe?  The  herd  instinct,  the 
pattering  of  others'  arguments,  a  blind  enthusiasm  on  be- 
half of  sentiments  that  were  never  truly  felt,  could  alone 
render  such  a  catastrophe  possible.  Nothing  but  the 
freedom  of  the  largest  possible  number  of  individuals 
can  save  us  from  the  recurrence  of  such  a  tragedy;  noth- 
ing can  save  us  but  that  conscience  should  be  an  indi- 
vidual and  not  a  collective  affair.  That  which  each  one 
recognizes  to  be  true  and  good  for  himself,  is  true  and 
good  for  mankind.  "What  the  world  needs  before  all 
to-day  is  free  souls  and  strong  characters.  For  to-day 
all  paths  seem  to  lead  to  an  accentuation  of  herd  life. 
We  see  a  passive  subordination  to  the  church,  the  in- 
tolerant traditionalism  of  the  fatherlands,  socialist 
dreams  of  a  despotic  unity  .  .  .  Mankind  needs  men 
who  can  show  that  the  very  persons  who  love  mankind 
can,  whenever  necessary,  declare  war  against  the  col- 
lective impiilse." 

Holland  therefore  refuses  to  act  as  authority  for 
others.  He  demands  that  every  one  should  recognize  the 
supreme  authority  of  his  own  conscience.  Truth  can- 
not be  taught;  it  must  be  lived.  He  who  thinks  clearly, 
and  having  done  so  acts  freely,  produces  conviction,  not 
by  words  but  by  his  nature.  Holland  has  been  able  to 
help  an  entire  generation,  because  from  the  height  of 
his  loneliness  he  has  shown  the  world  how  a  man  makes 
an  idea  live  for  all  time  by  loyalty  to  that  which  he  has 
recognized  as  truth.  Holland's  counsel  was  not  word 
but  deed;  it  was  the  moral  simplicity  of  his  own  example. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   SOLITARY 

ROLLAND'S  life  was  now  in  touch  with  the  life 
of  the  whole  world.  It  radiated  influence  in 
all  directions.  Yet  how  lonely  was  this  man 
during  the  five  years  of  voluntary  exile.  He  dwelt 
apart  at  Villeneuve  by  the  lake  of  Geneva.  His  little 
room  resembled  that  in  which  he  had  lived  in  Paris. 
Here,  too,  were  piles  of  books  and  pamphlets;  here  was 
a  plain  deal  table;  here  was  a  piano,  the  companion  of 
his  hours  of  relaxation.  His  days,  and  often  his  nights 
were  spent  at  work.  He  seldom  went  for  a  walk,  and 
rarely  received  a  visitor,  for  his  friends  were  cut  off 
from  him,  and  even  his  parents  and  his  sister  could  only 
get  across  the  frontier  about  once  a  year.  But  the 
worst  feature  of  this  loneliness  was  that  it  was  loneli- 
ness in  a  glass  house.  He  was  continually  spied  upon: 
his  least  words  were  listened  for  by  eavesdroppers;  pro- 
vocative agents  sought  him  out,  proclaiming  themselves 
revolutionists  and  sympathizers.  Every  letter  was  read 
before  it  reached  him;  every  word  he  spoke  over  the 
telephone  was  recorded ;  every  interview  was  kept  under 
obsrvation.  Romain  Rolland  in  his  glass  prison-house 
was  the  captive  of  unseen  powers. 

324 


Rolland's  Mother 


THE  SOLITARY  325 

It  seems  hardly  credible  to-day  that  during  the  last 
two  years  of  the  war  Romain  Rolland,  to  whose  words 
the  world  is  now  eager  to  listen,  should  have  had  no 
facility  for  expressing  his  ideas  in  the  newspapers,  no 
publisher  for  his  books,  no  possibility  of  printing  any- 
thing beyond  an  occasional  review  arti^.  ^ilis  home- 
land had  repudiated  him;  he  was  the  "fuorus^to"  of  the 
middle  ages,  was  placed  under  a  ban.  The  more  un- 
mistakably he  proclaimed  his  spiritual  independence, 
the  less  did  he  find  himself  regarded  as  a  welcome  guest 
in  Switzerland.  He  was  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere 
of  secret  suspicion.  By  degrees,  open  attacks  had  been 
replaced  by  a  more  dangerous  form  of  persecution.  A 
gloomy  silence  was  established  around  his  name  and 
works.  His  earlier  companions  had  more  and  more 
withdrawn  from  him.  Many  of  the  new  friendships 
had  been  dissolved,  for  the  younger  men  in  especial  were 
devoting  their  interest  to  political  questions  instead  of 
to  things  of  the  spirit.  The  more  stormy  the  outside 
world,  the  more  oppressive  the  stillness  of  Rolland's 
existence.  He  had  no  wife  as  helpmate.  What  to  him 
was  the  best  of  all  companionship,  the  companionship 
of  his  own  writings,  was  now  unattainable,  for  he  had  no 
freedom  of  publication  in  France.  His  country  was 
closed  to  him,  his  place  of  refuge  was  beset  with  a 
hundred  eyes.  Most  homeless  among  the  homeless,  he 
lived,  as  his  beloved  Beethoven  had  said,  "in  the  air," 
lived  in  the  realm  of  the  ideal,  in  invisible  Europe. 
Nothing  shows  better  the  energy  of  his  living  goodness 


326  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

than  that  he  was  no  whit  embittered  by  his  experience, 
and  that  the  ordeal  has  served  but  to  strengthen  his  faith. 
For  this  utter  solitude  among  men  was  a  true  fellowship 
with  mankind. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   DIARY 

THERE  was,  however,  one  companion  with  whom 
Rolland  could  hold  converse  daily — his  inner 
consciousness.  Day  by  day,  from  the  outbreak 
of  the  war,  Rolland  recorded  his  sentiments,  his  secret 
thoughts,  and  the  messages  he  received  from  afar.  His 
very  silence  was  an  impassioned  conversation  with  the 
time  spirit.  During  these  years,  volume  was  added  to 
volume,  until  by  the  end  of  the  war,  they  totaled  no  less 
than  twenty-seven.  When  he  was  able  to  return  to 
France,  he  naturally  hesitated  to  take  this  confidential 
document  to  a  land  where  the  censors  would  have  a  legal 
right  to  study  every  detail  of  his  private  thoughts.  He 
has  shown  a  page  here  and  there  to  intimate  friends,  but 
the  whole  remains  as  a  legacy  to  posterity,  for  those  who 
will  be  able  to  contemplate  the  tragedy  of  our  days  with 
purer  and  more  dispassionate  views. 

It  is  impossible  for  us  to  do  more  than  surmise  the 
real  nature  of  this  document,  but  our  feelings  suggest 
to  us  that  it  must  be  a  spiritual  history  of  the  epoch,  and 
one  of  incomparable  value.  Rolland's  best  and  freest 
thoughts  come  to  him  when  he  is  writing.  His  most  in- 
spired moments  are  those  when  he  is  most  personal. 

327 


328  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Consequently,  just  as  the  letters  taken  in  their  entirety 
may  be  regarded  as  artistically  superior  to  the  pub- 
lished essays,  so  beyond  question  his  diary  must  be  a 
human  document  supplying  a  most  admirable  and  pure- 
minded  commentary  upon  the  war.  Only  to  the  chil- 
dren of  a  later  day  will  it  become  plain  that  what  Hol- 
land so  ably  showed  in  the  case  of  Beethoven  and  the 
other  heroes,  applies  with  equal  force  to  himself.  They 
will  learn  at  what  a  cost  of  personal  disillusionment 
his  message  of  hope  and  confidence  was  delivered  to 
the  world ;  they  will  learn  that  an  idealism  which  brought 
help  to  thousands,  and  which  wiseacres  have  often  de- 
rided as  trivial  and  commonplace,  sprang  from  the  dark- 
est abysses  of  suffering  and  loneliness,  and  was  ren- 
dered possible  solely  by  the  heroism  of  a  soul  in  travail. 
All  that  has  been  disclosed  to  us  is  the  fact  of  his  faith. 
These  manuscript  volumes  contain  a  record  of  the  ran- 
som with  which  that  faith  was  purchased,  of  the  pay- 
ments demanded  from  day  to  day  by  the  inexorable  cred- 
itor we  name  Life. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    FORERUNNERS   AND    EMPEDOCLES 

ROLLAND  opened  his  campaign  against  hatred 
almost  immediately  after  the  war  began.  For 
more  than  a  year  he  continued  to  deliver  his 
message  in  opposition  to  the  frenzied  screams  of  ran- 
cor arising  from  all  lands.  His  efforts  proved  futile. 
The  war-current  rose  yet  higher,  the  stream  being  fed 
by  new  and  ever  new  blood  flowing  from  innocent  vic- 
tims. Again  and  again  some  additional  country  be- 
came involved  in  the  carnage.  At  length,  as  the  clamor 
still  grew  louder,  Rolland  paused  for  a  moment  to  take 
breath.  He  felt  that  it  would  be  madness  were  he  to 
continue  the  attempt  to  outcry  the  cries  of  so  many 
madmen. 

After  the  publication  of  Au-dessus  de  la  melee,  Rol- 
land withdrew  from  public  participation  in  the  contro- 
versies with  which  the  essays  had  been  concerned.  He 
had  spoken  his  word;  he  had  sown  the  wind  and  had 
reaped  the  whirlwind.  He  was  neither  weary  in  well- 
doing nor  was  he  weak  in  faith,  but  he  realized  that  it 
was  useless  to  speak  to  a  world  which  would  not  listen. 
In  truth  he  had  lost  the  sublime  illusion  with  which 
he  had  been  animated  at  the  outset,  the  belief  that  men 

329 


330  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

desire  reason  and  truth.  To  his  intelligence  now  grown 
clearer  it  was  plain  that  men  dread  truth  more  than 
anything  else  in  the  world.  He  began,  therefore,  to 
settle  accounts  with  his  own  mind  by  writing  a  satirical 
romance,  and  by  other  imaginative  creations,  while  con- 
tinuing his  vast  private  correspondence.  Thus  for  a 
time  he  was  out  of  the  hurlyburly.  But  after  a  year  of 
silence,  when  the  crimson  flood  continued  to  swell,  and 
when  falsehood  was  raging  more  furiously  than  ever,  he 
felt  it  his  duty  to  reopen  the  campaign.  "We  must  re- 
peat the  truth  again  and  again,"  said  Goethe  to  Scher- 
mann,  "for  the  error  with  which  truth  has  to  contend  is 
continually  being  repreached,  not  by  individuals,  but  by 
the  mass."  There  was  so  much  loneliness  in  the  world 
that  it  had  become  necessary  to  form  new  ties.  Signs 
of  discontent  and  revolt  in  the  various  lands  were  more 
plentiful.  More  numerous,  too,  were  the  brave  men 
in  active  revolt  against  the  fate  which  was  being  forced 
on  them.  RoUand  felt  that  it  was  incumbent  upon 
him  to  give  what  support  he  could  to  these  dispersed 
fighters,  and  to  inspirit  them  for  the  struggle. 

In  the  first  essay  of  the  new  series.  La  route  en  lacets 
qui  monte,  Rolland  explained  the  position  he  had  reached 
in  December,  1916.  He  wrote:  "If  I  have  kept  silence 
for  a  year,  it  is  not  because  the  faith  to  which  I  gave 
expression  in  Above  the  Battle  has  been  shaken  (it 
stands  firmer  than  ever) ;  but  I  am  well  assured  that  it 
is  useless  to  speak  to  him  who  will  not  hearken.  Facts 
alone  will  speak,  with  tragical  insistence;  facts  alone 
will  be  able  to  penetrate  the  thick  wall  of  obstinacy, 


THE  FORERUNNERS  AND  EMPEDOCLES     331 

pride,  and  falsehood  with  which  men  have  surrounded 
their  minds  because  they  do  not  wish  to  see  the  light. 
But  we,  as  between  brothers  of  all  the  nations;  as  be- 
tween those  who  have  known  how  to  defend  their  moral 
freedom,  their  reason,  and  their  faith  in  human  solidar- 
ity; as  between  minds  which  continue  to  hope  amid 
silence,  oppression,  and  grief — we  do  well  to  exchange, 
as  this  year  draws  to  a  close,  words  of  affection  and 
solace.  We  must  convince  one  another  that  during  the 
blood-drenched  night  the  light  is  still  burning,  that  it 
never  has  been  and  never  will  be  extinguished.  In  the 
abyss  of  suffering  into  which  Europe  is  plunged,  those 
who  wield  the  pen  must  be  careful  never 'to  add  an  ad- 
ditional pang  to  the  mass  of  pangs  already  endured, 
and  (never  to  pour  new  reasons  for  hatred  into  the 
burning  flood  of  hate.  Two  ways  remain  open  for  those 
rare  free  spirits  which,  athwart  the  mountain  of  crimes 
and  follies,  are  endeavoring  to  break  a  trail  for  others, 
to  find  for  themselves  an  egress.  Some  are  courage- 
ously attempting  in  their  respective  lands  to  make 
their  fellow-countrymen  aware  of  their  own  faults.  .  .  . 
My  task  is  different,  for  it  is  to  remind  the  hostile  breth- 
ren of  Europe,  not  of  their  worst  aspects  but  of  their 
best,  to  recall  to  them  reasons  for  hoping  that  there  will 
one  day  be  a  wiser  and  more  loving  humanity." 

The  essays  of  the  new  series  appeared,  for  the  most 
part,  in  various  minor  reviews,  seeing  that  the  more  in- 
fluential and  widely  circulated  periodicals  had  long  since 
closed  their  columns  to  Rolland's  pen.  When  we  study 
them  as  a  whole,  in  the  collective  volume  entitled  Les 


332  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

DrecurseurSf  we  realize  that  they  emit  a  new  tone.     Anger 
has  been  replaced  by  intense  compassion,  this  corre- 
sponding to  the  change  which  had  taken  place  at  the 
fighting  front.     In  all  the  armies,  during  the  third  year 
of  the  war,  the  fanatical  impetus  of  the  opening  phases 
had  vanished,  and  the  men  were  now  animated  by  a 
tranquil  but  stubborn  sentiment  of  duty.     Rolland  is 
perhaps  even  more  impassioned  and  more  revolution- 
ary in  his  outlook,  and  yet  the  essays  are  characterized 
/   by  greater  gentleness  than  of  old.     What  he  writes  is 
'"  no  longer  at  grips  with  the  war,  but  seems  to  soar  above 
the  war.     His  gaze  is  fixed  upon  the  distance;  his  mind 
\  ranges  down  the  centuries  in  search  of  like  experiences; 
/looking  for  consolation,   he   endeavors  to   discover   a 
.'meaning  in  the  meaningless.     He  recurs  to  the  idea  of 
Goethe,  that  human  progress  is  effected  by  a  spiral  as- 
cent.    At  a  higher  level  men  return  to  a  point  only  a 
little  above  the  old.     Evolution  and  reversion  go  hand 
i  in  hand.     Thus  he  attempts  to  show  that  even  at  this 
1  tragical  hour  we  can  discern  intimations  of  a  better  day. 
The  essays  comprising  Les  precurseurs  no  longer  at- 
tack adverse  opinions  and  the  war.     They  merely  draw 
our  attention  to  the  existence  in  all  countries  of  persons 
who  are  fighting  for  a  very  different  ideal,  to  the  exist- 
ence of  those  heralds  of  spiritual  unity  whom  Nietzsche 
speaks  of  as  "the  pathfinders  of  the  European  soul." 
It  is  too  late  to  hope  for  anything  from  the  masses.     In 
the  address  Aux  peuples  assassines,  he  has  nothing  but 
pity  for  the  millions,  for  those  who,  with  no  will  of 
their  own,  must  be  the  mute  instruments  of  others' 


THE  FORERUNNERS  AND  EMPEDOCLES     333 

aims,  for  those  whose  sacrifice  has  no  other  meaning 
than  the  beauty  of  self-sacrifice.  His  hope  now  turns 
exclusively  towards  the  elite,  towards  the  few  who  have 
remained  free.  These  can  bring  salvation  to  the  world 
by  splendid  spiritual  imagery  wherein  all  truth  is  mir- 
rored. For  the  nonce,  indeed,  their  activities  seem  un- 
availing, but  their  labors  remain  as  a  permanent  record 
of  their  omnipresence.  Rolland  provides  masterly 
analyses  of  the  work  of  such  contemporary  writers;  he 
adds  silhouettes  from  earlier  times;  and  he  gives  a  por- 
trait of  Tolstoi,  the  great  apostle  of  the  doctrine  of  hu-  * 
man  freedom,  with  an  account  of  the  Russian  teacher's 
views  on  war. 

To  the  same  series  of  writings,  although  it  is  not  in-  ' 
eluded  in  the  volume  Les  precurseurs,  belongs  Rolland's 
study  dated  April  15,  1918,  entitled  Empidocle  d'Agri- 
gente  et  Vdge  de  la  haine.  The  great  sage  of  classical 
Greece,  to  whom  Rolland  at  the  age  of  twenty  had  dedi- 
cated his  first  drama,  now  brings  comfort  to  the  man 
of  riper  years.  Rolland  shows  that  two  and  a  half 
millenniums  ago  a  poet  writing  during  an  epoch  of 
carnage  had  recognized  that  the  world  was  characterized 
by  "an  eternal  oscillation  from  hatred  to  love,  and  from  / 
love  to  hatred";  that  history  invariably  witnesses  a  whole  / 
era  of  struggle  and  hatred,  and  that  as  inevitably  as  the 
succession  of  the  seasons  there  ensues  a  period  of  hap- 
pier days.  With  a  broad  descriptive  sweep,  he  indi- 
cates that  from  the  time  of  the  Sicilian  philosopher  to 
our  own  the  wise  men  of  all  ages  have  known  the 
truth,  but  have  been  powerless  to  cope  with  the  mad- 


334  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

ness  of  the  world.  Truth,  nevertheless,  passes  down 
forever  from  hand  to  hand,  being  thus  imperishable 
and  indestructible. 

Even  across  these  years  of  resignation  there  shines 
a  gentle  light  of  hope,  though  manifest  only  to  those 
who  have  eyes  to  see,  only  to  those  who  can  lift  their 
gaze  above  their  own  troubles  to  contemplate  the  infinite. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

LILULI 

DURING  these  five  years,  the  ethicist,  the  phi- 
lanthropist, the  European,  had  been  speaking 
to  the  nations,  but  the  poet  had  apparently 
been  dumb.  To  many  it  may  seem  strange  that  Rol- 
land's  first  imaginative  work  to  be  written  since  1914, 
a  work  completed  before  the  end  of  the  war,  should 
have  been  a  farcical  comedy,  Liluli.  Yet  this  lightness 
of  mood  sprang  from  the  uttermost  abysses  of  sorrow. 
Rolland,  stricken  to  the  soul  when  contemplating  his 
powerlessness  against  the  insanity  of  the  world,  turned 
to  irony  as  a  means  of  abreaction — to  employ  a  term 
introduced  by  the  psychoanalysts.  From  the  pole  of 
repressed  emotion,  the  electric  spark  flashes  across  into 
the  field  of  laughter.  And  here,  as  in  all  Rolland's 
works,  the  author's  essential  purpose  is  to  free  himself 
from  the  tyranny  of  a  sensation.  Pain  grows  to  laugh- 
ter, laughter  to  bitterness,  so  that  in  contrapuntal  fashion 
the  ego  may  be  helped  to  maintain  its  equipoise  against 
the  heaviness  of  the  time.  When  wrath  remains  power- 
less, the  spirit  of  mockery  is  still  in  being,  and  can  be 
shot  like  a  fire-arrow  across  the  darkening  world. 

Liluli  is  the  satirical  counterpart  to  an  unwritten  trag- 

335 


336  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

edy,  or  rather  to  the  tragedy  which  Rolland  did  not  need 
to  write,  since  the  world  was  living  it.  The  satire  pro- 
duces the  impression  of  having  become,  in  course  of 
composition,  more  bitter,  more  sarcastic,  almost  more 
cynical,  than  the  author  had  originally  designed.  We 
feel  that  the  time  spirit  intervened  to  make  it  more 
pungent,  more  stinging,  more  pitiless.  At  the  culminat- 
ing point,  a  scene  penned  in  the  summer  of  1917,  we 
behold  the  two  friends  who  are  misled  by  Liluli,  the 
mischievous  goddess  of  illusion  (for  her  name  signifies 
'Tillusion"),  wrestling  to  their  mutual  destruction.  In 
these  two  princes  of  fable,  there  recurs  Rolland's  ear- 
lier symbolism  of  Olivier  and  Jean  Christophe.  France 
and  Germany  here  encounter  one  another,  both  hasten- 
ing blindly  forward  under  the  leadership  of  the  same 
illusion.  The  two  nations  fight  on  the  bridge  of  recon- 
ciliation which  in  earlier  days  they  had  built  across  the 
abyss  dividing  them.  In  the  conditions  then  prevail- 
ing, so  pure  a  note  of  lyrical  mourning  could  not  be 
sustained.  As  its  creation  progressed,  the  comedy  be- 
came more  incisive,  more  pointed,  more  farcical.  Ev- 
erything that  Rolland  contemplated  around  him,  di- 
plomacy, the  intellectuals,  the  war  poets  (presented  here 
in  the  ludicrous  form  of  dancing  dervishes),  those  who 
pay  lip-service  to  pacifism,  the  idols  of  fraternity,  lib- 
erty, God  himself,  is  distorted  by  his  tearful  eyes  to 
seem  grotesques  and  caricatures.  All  the  madness  of 
the  world  is  fiercely  limned  in  an  outburst  of  derisive 
rage.  Everything  is,  as  it  were,  dissolved  and  decom- 
posed in  the  acrid  menstruum  of  mockery;  and  finally 


LILULI  337 

mockery  itself,  the  spirit  of  crazy  laughter,  feels  the 
scourge.  Polichinelle,  the  dialectician  of  the  piece,  the 
rationalist  in  cap  and  bells,  is  reasonable  to  excess;  his 
laughter  is  cowardly,  being  a  mask  for  inaction.  When 
he  encounters  Truth  in  fetters  (Truth  being  the  one  fig- 
ure in  the  comedy  presented  with  touching  seriousness 
in  all  her  tragical  beauty),  Polichinelle,  though  he  loves 
her,  does  not  dare  to  take  his  stand  by  her  side.  In  this 
pitiable  world,  even  the  sage  is  a  coward;  and  in  the 
strongest  passage  of  the  satire,  Holland's  own  intense 
feeling  breaks  forth  against  the  one  who  knows  but  will 
not  bear  testimony.  "You  can  laugh,"  exclaims  Truth; 
"you  can  mock;  but  you  do  it  furtively  like  a  schoolboy. 
Like  your  forebears,  the  great  Polichinelles,  like  Eras- 
mus and  Voltaire,  the  masters  of  free  irony  and  of 
laughter,  you  are  prudent,  prudent  in  the  extreme. 
Your  great  mouth  is  closed  to  hide  your  smiles.  .  .  . 
Laugh  away!  Laugh  your  fill!  Split  your  sides  with 
laughter  at  the  lies  you  catch  in  your  nets;  you  will 
never  catch  Truth  .  .  .  You  will  be  alone  with  your 
laughter  in  the  void.  Then  you  will  call  upon  me,  but 
I  shall  not  answer,  for  I  shall  be  gagged  .  .  .  When 
will  there  come  the  great  and  victorious  laughter,  the 
roar  of  laughter  which  will  set  me  free?" 

In  this  comedy  we  do  not  find  any  such  great,  vic- 
torious, and  liberating  laughter.  Holland's  bitterness 
was  too  profound  for  that  mood  to  be  possible.  The 
play  breathes  nothing  but  tragical  irony,  as  a  defense 
against  the  intensity  of  the  author's  own  emotions.  Al- 
though the  new  work  maintains  the  rhythm  of  Colas 


338  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

Breugnon,  with  its  vibrant  rhymes,  and   although  in 
Liluli  as  in  Colas  Breugnon  there  is  a  strain  of  raillery, 
nevertheless  this  satire  of  the  war  period,  a  tragi-comedy 
of  chaos,  contrasts  strikingly  with  the  work  that  deals 
with  the  happy  days  of  "la  douce  France."     In  the 
earlier  book,  the  cheerfulness  springs  from  a  full  heart, 
but  the  humor  of  the  later  work  arises  from  a  heart 
l    overfull.     In  Colas  Breugnon  we  find  the  geniality,  the 
I    joviality,  of  a  broad  laugh;  in  Liluli  the  humor  is  ironi- 
I   cal,  bitter,  breathing  a  fierce  irreverence  for  all  that  ex- 
•   ists.     A  world  full  of  noble  dreams  and  kindly  visions 
has  been  destroyed,  and  the  ruins  of  this  perished  world 
are  heaped  between  the  old  France  of  Colas  Breugnon 
and  the  new  France  of  Liluli.     Vainly  does  the  farce 
move  on  to  madder  and  ever  madder  caprioles;  vainly 
does  the  wit  leap  and  o'erleap  itself.     The  sadness  of 
the  underlying   sentiment  continually  brings   us   back 
with  a  thud  to  the  bloodstained  earth.     There  is  noth- 
ing else  written  by  him  during  the  war,  no  impassioned 
appeal,  no  tragical  adjuration,  which,  to  my  feeling,  be- 
V  trays  with  such  intensity  Romain  Rolland's  personal  suf- 
I  fering  throughout  those  years,  as  does  this  comedy  with 
its  wild  bursts  of  laughter,  its  expression  of  the  author's 
\  self -enforced  mood  of  bitter  irony. 


CHAPTER  XX 

CLERAMBAULT 

LILULI,  the  tragi-comedy,  was  an  outcry,  a  groan, 
a  painful  burst  of  mockery;  it  was  an  element- 
ary gesture  of  reaction  against  suffering  that 
was  almost  physical.  But  the  author's  serious,  tranquil, 
and  enduring  settlement  of  accounts  with  the  times  is  his 
novel,  Clerambault,  Vhistoire  d'une  conscience  libre  pen- 
dant la  guerre,  which  was  slowly  brought  to  completion 
in  the  space  of  four  years.  It  is  not  autobiography, 
but  a  transcription  of  Holland's  ideas.  Like  Jean  Chris- 
tophe,  it  is  simultaneously  the  biography  of  an  imaginary 
personality  and  a  comprehensive  picture  of  the  age. 
Matter  is  here  collected  that  is  elsewhere  dispersed  in 
manifestoes  and  letters.  Artistically,  it  is  the  subter- 
ranean link  between  Rolland's  manifold  activities. 
Amid  the  hindrances  imposed  by  his  public  duties,  and 
amid  the  difficulties  deriving  from  other  outward  circum- 
stances, the  author  built  the  work  upwards  out  of  the 
depths  of  sorrow  to  the  heights  of  consolation.  It  was 
not  completed  until  the  war  was  over,  when  Holland  had 
returned  to  Paris  in  the  summer  of  1920. 

Just  as  little  as  Jean  Christophe  can  Clerambault 
properly  be  termed  a  novel.     It  is  something  less  than 

339 


340 


ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


4, 


a  novel,  and  at  the  same  time  a  great  deal  more.  It  de- 
scribes the  development,  not  of  a  man,  but  of  an  idea. 
As  in  Jean  Christophe,  so  here,  we  have  a  philosophy 
presented,  but  not  as  something  ready-made,  complete, 
a  finished  datum.  In  company  with  a  human  being, 
we  rise  stage  by  stage  from  error  and  weakness  to- 
wards clarity.  In  a  sense  it  is  a  religious  book,  the 
history  of  a  conversion,  of  an  illumination.  It  is  a 
modern  legend  of  the  saints  in  the  form  of  the  life  his- 
tory of  a  simple  citizen.  In  a  word,  as  the  sub-title 
phrases  it,  we  have  here  the  story  of  a  conscience. 
The  ultimate  significance  of  the  book  is  freedom,  the  at- 
tainment of  self-knowledge,  but  raised  to  the  heroic  plane 
inasmuch  as  knowledge  becomes  action.  The  scene 
is  played  in  the  intimate  recesses  of  a  man's  nature, 
where  he  is  alone  with  truth.  In  the  new  book,  there- 
fore, there  is  no  countertype,  as  Olivier  was  the  counter- 
type  to  Jean  Christophe;  nor  do  we  find  in  Clerambault 
what  was  in  truth  the  countertype  of  Jean  Christophe, 
external  life.  Clerambault's  countertype,  Clerambault's 
antagonist,  is  himself;  is  the  old,  the  earlier,  the  weak 
Clerambault;  is  the  Clerambault  with  whom  the  new, 
the  knowing,  the  true  man  has  to  wrestle,  whom  the 
new  Clerambault  has  to  overcome.  The  hero's  heroism 
is  not  displayed,  as  was  that  of  Jean  Christophe,  in  a 
struggle  with  the  forces  of  the  visible  world.  Cleram- 
bault's war  is  waged  in  the  invisible  realm  of  thought. 

At  the  outset,  therefore,  Rolland  designed  to  call  the 
book  "un  roman-meditation."  It  was  to  have  been  en- 
titled "L'un  contre  tous,"  this  being  an  adaptation  of  La 


CLERAMBAULT  341 

Boetie's  title  Contrun.  The  proposed  name  was,  how- 
ever, ultimately  abandoned  for  fear  of  misunderstand- 
ing. The  spiritual  character  of  the  new  work  recalls 
a  long-forgotten  tradition,  the  meditations  of  the  old 
French  moralists,  the  sixteenth  century  stoics  who  dur- 
ing a  time  of  war-madness  endeavored  in  besieged  Paris 
to  maintain  their  intellectual  serenity  by  engaging  in 
Platonic  dialogues.  The  war  itself,  however,  was  not 
to  be  the  theme,  for  the  free  soul  does  not  strive  with 
the  elements.  The  author's  intention  was  to  discuss  the 
spiritual  accompaniments  of  this  war,  for  these  to  Hol- 
land seemed  as  tragical  as  the  destruction  of  millions 
of  men.  His  concern  was  the  destruction  of  the  indi- 
vidual soul  in  the  deluge  produced  by  the  overflowing  of 
the  mass  soul.  He  wished  to  show  how  strenuous  an 
eff"ort  must  be  made  by  any  one  who  would  escape  from 
the  tyranny  of  the  herd  instinct;  to  display  the  hateful 
(enslavement  of  individuals  by  the  revengeful,  jealous, 
and  authoritarian  mentality  of  the  crowd;  to  depict  the 
terrific  efforts  which  a  man  must  make  if  he  would 
avoid  being  sucked  into  the  maelstrom  of  epidemic  false- 
hood. He  hoped  to  make  it  clear  that  what  appears  to 
be  the  simplest  thing  in  tlie  world  is  in  reality  the 
most  difficult  of  tasks  in  these  epochs  of  excessive  soli- 
darity, namely,  for  a  man  to  remain  what  he  really  is, 
and  not  to  become  that  which  the  levelling  forces  of  the 
world,  the  fatherland,  or  some  other  artificial  commun- 
ity, would  fain  make  of  him. 

Romain  Rolland  deliberately  refrained  from  casting 
his  hero  in  a  heroic  mold,  the  treatment  thus  differing 


342  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

from  what  he  had  chosen  in  the  case  of  Jean  Christophe. 
Agenor  Clerambault  is  an  inconspicuous  figure,  a  quiet 
fellow  of  little  account,  an  author  of  no  particular  note, 
one  of  those  persons  whose  literary  work  succeeds  in 
pleasing  a  complaisant  generation,  though  it  has  no 
significance  for  posterity.  He  has  the  nebulous  idealism 
of  mediocre  minds;  he  hymns  the  praises  of  perpetual 
peace  and  international  conciliation.  His  own  tepid 
goodness  makes  him  believe  that  nature  is  good,  is 
man's  wellwisher,  desiring  to  lead  mankind  gently  on- 
ward towards  a  more  beautiful  future.  Life  does  not 
torment  him  with  problems,  and  he  therefore  extols  life 
amid  the  tranquil  comforts  of  his  bourgeois  existence. 
Blessed  with  a  kindly  and  somewhat  simple-minded  wife, 
and  with  two  children,  a  son  and  a  daughter,  he  may 
be  considered  a  modem  Theocritus  wearing  the  ribbon 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  singing  the  joyful  present  and 
the  still  more  joyful  future  of  our  ancient  cosmos. 

The  quiet  suburban  household  is  suddenly  struck  as 
by  a  thunderbolt  with  the  news  of  the  outbreak  of  war. 
Clerambault  takes  the  train  to  Paris;  and  no  sooner  is 
he  sprinkled  with  spray  from  the  hot  waves  of  en- 
thusiasm, than  all  his  ideals  of  international  amity  and 
perpetual  peace  vanish  into  thin  air.  He  returns  home 
a  fanatic,  oozing  hate,  and  steaming  with  phrases.  Un- 
der the  influence  of  the  tremendous  storm  he  begins  to 
sound  his  lyre:  Theocritus  has  become  Pindar,  a  war 
poet.  Holland  gives  a  marvelously  vivid  description  of 
something  every  one  of  us  has  witnessed,  showing  how 
Clerambault,  like  all  persons  of  average  nature,  really 


CLERAMBAULT  343 

takes  a  delight  in  horrors,  however  unwilling  he  may  be 
to  admit  it  even  to  himself.  He  is  rejuvenated,  his  life 
seems  to  move  on  wings;  the  enthusiasm  of  the  masses 
stirs  the  almost  extinguished  flame  of  enthusiasm  in  his 
own  breast;  he  is  fired  by  the  national  fire;  he  is  physi- 
cally and  mentally  refreshed  by  the  new  atmosphere. 
Like  so  many  other  mediocrities,  he  secures  in  these 
days  his  greatest  literary  triumph.  His  war  sotigs, 
precisely  because  they  give  such  vigorous  expression  to 
the  sentiments  of  the  man  in  the  street,  become  a  national 
property.  Fame  and  public  favor  are  showered  upon 
him,  so  that  (at  this  time  when  millions  of  his  fellows 
are  perishing)  he  feels  well,  self-confident,  alive  as 
never  before. 

His  pride  is  increased,  his  joy  of  life  accentuated, 
when  his  son  Maxime  leaves  for  the  front  filled  with 
martial  ardor.  His  first  thought,  a  few  months  later, 
when  the  young  man  comes  home  on  leave,  is  that 
Maxime  should  retail  to  him  all  the  ecstasies  of  war. 
Strangely  enough,  however,  the  young  soldier,  whose 
eyes  still  burn  with  the  sights  he  has  seen,  is  unrespon- 
sive. Not  wishing  to  mortify  his  father,  he  does  not 
positively  attempt  to  silence  the  latter's  paeans,  but  for 
his  part,  he  maintains  silence.  For  days  this  muteness 
stands  between  them,  and  the  father  is  unable  to  solve 
the  riddle.  He  feels  dumbly  that  his  son  is  conceal- 
ing something.  But  shame  binds  both  their  tongues. 
On  the  last  day  of  the  furlough,  Maxime  suddenly  pulls 
himself  together,  and  begins,  "Father,  are  you  quite 
sure  .  .  .?"     But  the  question  remains  unfinished,  ut- 


344  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

terance  is  choked.  Still  silent,  the  young  man  returns 
to  the  realities  of  war. 

A  few  days  later  there  is  a  fresh  offensive.  Maxime 
is  reported  missing.  Soon  his  father  learns  that  he  is 
dead.  Now  Clerambault  gropes  for  the  meaning  of 
those  last  words  behind  the  silence,  and  is  tormented  by 
the  thought  of  what  was  left  unspoken.  He  locks  him- 
self into  his  room,  and  for  the  first  time  he  is  alone  with 
V  ]  his  conscience.  He  begins  to  question  himself  in  search 
of  the  truth,  and  throughout  the  long  night  he  com- 
munes with  his  soul  as  he  traverses  the  road  to  Damas- 
cus. Piece  by  piece  he  tears  away  the  wrapping  of 
XjV  lies  with  which  he  has  enveloped  himself,  until  he  stands 

*  naked  before  his  own  criticism.     Prejudices  have  eaten 

deep  into  his  skin,  so  that  the  blood  flows  as  he  plucks 
them  from  him.  They  must  all  be  surrendered;  the 
prejudice  of  the  fatherland,  the  prejudice  of  the  herd, 
must  go;  in  the  end  he  recognizes  that  one  thing  only  is 
true,  one  thing  only  sacred,  life.  A  fever  of  enquiry 
consumes  him;  the  old  Adam  perishes  in  the  flame; 
when  the  day  dawns  he  is  a  new  man. 

He  knows  the  truth  now,  and  wishes  to  strengthen  his 
own  faith.  He  goes  to  some  of  his  fellows  and  talks 
to  them.  Most  of  them  do  not  understand  him.  Others 
refuse  to  understand  him.  Some,  however,  among 
whom  Perrotin  the  academician  is  notable,  are  yet  more 
alarming.  They  know  the  truth.  To  their  penetrating 
vision  the  nature  of  the  popular  idols  has  long  been 
plain.  But  they  are  cautious  folk.  They  compress 
their  lips  and  smile  at  one  another  like  the  augurs  of 


CLERAMBAULT  345 

ancient  Rome.     Like  Buddha,  they  take  refuge  in  Nir- 
vana, looking  down  calmly  upon  the  madness  of  the 
world,  tranquilly  seated  upon  their  pedestals  of  stone. 
Clerambault  calls  to  mind  that  other  Indian  saint,  who 
took  a  solemn  vow  that  he  would  not  withdraw  from 
the  world  until  he  had  delivered  mankind  from  suffer- 
ing.    The  truth  still  glows  too  fiercely  within  him;  he 
feels  as  if  it  would  stifle  him  as  it  strives  to  gush  forth 
in  volcanic  eruption.     Once  again  he  plunges  into  the 
solitude  of  a  wakeful  night.     Men's  words  have  sounded 
empty.     He  listens  to  his  conscience,  and  it  speaks  with 
the  voice  of  his  son.     Truth  knocks  at  the  door  of  his 
soul,  and  he  opens  to  truth.     In  this  lonely  night  Cler- 
ambault begins  to  speak  to  his  fellows;  no  longer  to 
individuals,  but  to  all  mankind.     For  the  first  time  the 
man  of  letters  becomes  aware  of  the  poet's  true  mis-  ' 
sion,  his  responsibility  for  all  persons  and  for  every-  ( 
thing.     He  knows  that  he  is  beginning  a  new  war,  he  1 
who  alone  must  wage  war  for  all.     But  the  conscious-   ' 
ness  of  truth  is  with  him,  his  heroism  has  begun. 

"Forgive  us,  ye  Dead,"  the  dialogue  of  the  country  ^ 
with  its  children,  is  published.  At  first  no  one  heeds 
the  pamphlet.  But  after  a  time  it  arouses  public  ani- 
mosity. A  storm  of  indignation  bursts  upon  Cleram- 
bault, threatening  to  lay  his  life  in  ruins.  Friends  for- 
sake him.  Envy,  which  had  long  been  crouching  for  a 
spring,  now  sends  whole  regiments  to  the  attack.  Am- 
bitious colleagues  seize  the  opportunity  of  proclaiming 
their  patriotism  in  contrast  with  his  deplorable  senti- 
ments.    Worst  of  all  for  Clerambault  in  that  his  inno- 


346  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

cent  wife  and  daughter  have  to  suffer  on  his  account. 
They  do  not  upbraid  him,  but  he  feels  as  if  he  had  aimed 
a  shaft  against  them.  He  who  has  hitherto  sunned  him- 
self in  the  warmth  of  family  life  and  has  enjoyed  the 
comforts  of  modest  fame,  is  now  absolutely  alone. 

Nevertheless  he  continues  on  his  course,  although 
these  stations  of  the  cross  become  harder  and  harder. 
Holland  shows  how  Clerambault  finds  new  friends,  only 
to  discover  that  they  too  fail  to  understand  him.  How 
his  words  are  mutilated,  his  ideas  misapplied.  How  he 
is  overwhelmed  to  learn  that  his  fellows,  those  whom 
he  wishes  to  help,  have  no  desire  for  truth,  but  are 
nourished  by  falsehood;  that  they  are  continually  in 
search,  not  of  freedom,  but  of  some  new  form  of  slav- 
ery. (In  these  wonderful  passages  the  reader  is  again 
and  again  reminded  of  Dostoievsky's  Grand  Inquisitor.) 
He  perseveres  in  his  pilgrimage  even  when  he  has  lost 
faith  in  his  power  to  help  his  fellow  men,  for  this  is 
no  longer  his  goal.  He  passes  men  by,  marching  on- 
ward towards  the  unseen,  towards  truth;  his  love  for 
truth  exposing  him  ever  more  pitilessly  to  the  hatred 
of  men.  By  degrees  he  becomes  entangled  in  a  net 
of  calumnies;  his  troubles  develop  into  a  "Clerambault 
affair";  at  length  a  prosecution  is  initiated.  The  state 
has  recognized  its  enemy  in  the  free  man.  But  while 
the  case  is  still  in  progress,  the  "defeatist"  meets  his 
fate  from  the  pistol  bullet  of  a  fanatic.  Clerambault's 
end  recalls  the  opening  of  the  world  catastrophe  with 
the  assassination  of  Jaures. 

Never  has  the  tragedy  of  conscience  been  more  simply 


CLERAMBAULT  347 

and  more  poignantly  depicted  than  in  this  account  of 
the  martyrdom  of  an  average  man.  Holland's  ripe  spir- 
itual powers,  his  magical  faculty  for  combining  mastery 
with  the  human  touch,  are  here  at  their  highest.  Never 
was  his  outlook  over  the  world  so  extensive,  never  was 
the  view  so  serene,  as  from  this  last  summit.  And  yet, 
though  we  are  thus  led  upwards  to  the  consideration  of 
the  ultimate  problems  of  the  spirit,  we  start  from  the 
plain  of  everyday  life.  It  is  the  soul  of  a  commonplace 
man,  the  soul  it  might  seem  of  a  weakling,  which  moves 
through  this  long  passion.  Herein  lies  the  marvel  of 
the  moral  solace  which  the  book  conveys.  Holland  was 
the  first  to  recognize  the  defect  of  his  previous  writings, 
considered  as  means  of  helping  the  average  man.  In 
the  heroic  biographies,  heroism  is  displayed  only  by 
those  in  whom  the  heroic  soul  is  inborn,  only  by  those  ^  •"^^ 
whose  flight  is  winged  with  genius.     In  ]ean  Cliristophe,  V  >-"  ^  '^  ^S' 

the  moral  victory  is  a  triumph  of  native  energy.  But 
in  Clerambault  we  are  shown  that  even  the  weakling, 
even  the  mediocre  man,  every  one  of  us,  can  be  stronger 
than  the  whole  world  if  he  have  but  the  will.  It  is 
open  to  every  man  to  be  true,  open  to  every  man  to 
win  spiritual  freedom,  if  he  be  at  one  with  his  con- 
science, and  if  he  regard  this  fellowship  with  his  con- 
science as  of  greater  value  than  fellowship  with  men  and 
with  the  age.  For  each  man  there  is  always  time,  for 
each  man  there  is  always  opportunity,  to  become  master 
of  realities.  Aert,  the  first  of  Holland's  heroes  to  show 
himself  greater  than  fate,  speaks  for  us  all  when  he 
says:     "It  is  never  too  late  to  be  free!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE    LAST    APPEAL 

FOR  five  years  Romain  Rolland  was  at  war  with 
the  madness  of  the  times.  At  length  the  fiery 
chains  were  loosened  from  the  racked  body  of 
Europe.  The  war  was  over,  the  armistice  had  been 
signed.  Men  were  no  longer  murdering  one  another; 
but  their  evil  passions,  their  hate,  continued.  Romain 
Rolland's  prophetic  insight  celebrated  a  mournful  tri- 
umph. His  distrust  of  victory,  his  reiterated  warnings 
that  conquerors  are  merciless,  were  more  than  justified 
by  the  revengeful  reality.  "Victory  in  arms  is  disas- 
trous to  the  ideal  of  an  unselfish  humanity.  Men  find 
it  extraordinarily  difficult  to  remain  gentle  in  the  hour 
of  triumph."  These  forecasts  were  terribly  fulfilled. 
Forgotten  were  all  the  fine  words  anent  the  victory 
of  freedom  and  right.  The  Versailles  conference 
devoted  itself  to  the  installation  of  a  new  regime  of 
force  and  to  the  humiliation  of  a  defeated  enemy.  Wliat 
the  idealism  of  simpletons  had  expected  to  be  the  end 
of  all  wars,  proved,  as  the  true  idealists  who  look  beyond 
men  towards  ideas  had  foreseen,  the  seed  of  fresh 
hatred  and  renewed  acts  of  violence. 

Once  again,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  Rolland  raised  his 

348 


THE  LAST  APPEAL  349 

voice  in  an  address  to  the  man  whom  sanguine  persons 
then  regarded  as  the  last  representative  of  idealism,  as 
the  advocate  of  perfect  justice.  Woodrow  Wilson,  when 
he  landed  in  Europe,  was  received  by  the  exultant  cries 
of  millions.  But  the  historian  is  aware  "that  universal 
history  is  but  a  succession  of  proofs  that  the  conqueror 
invariably  grows  arrogant  and  thus  plants  the  seed  of 
new  wars."  Rolland  felt  that  there  was  never  greater 
need  for  a  policy  that  should  be  moral,  not  militarist, 
that  should  be  constructive,  not  destructive.  The  citi- 
zen of  the  world,  the  man  who  had  endeavored  to  free 
the  war  from  the  stigma  of  hate,  now  tried  to  perform 
the  same  service  on  behalf  of  the  peace.  The  Euro- 
pean addressed  the  American  in  moving  terms:  "You 
alone.  Monsieur  le  President,  among  all  those  whose 
dread  duty  it  now  is  to  guide  the  policy  of  the  nations, 
you  alone  enjoy  world-wide  moral  authority.  You 
inspire  universal  confidence.  Answer  the  appeal  of 
these  passionate  hopes!  Take  the  hands  which  are 
stretched  forth,  help  them  to  clasp  one  another.  .  .  . 
Should  this  mediator  fail  to  appear,  the  human  masses, 
disarrayed  and  unbalanced,  will  almost  inevitably  break 
forth  into  excesses.  The  common  people  will  welter  in 
bloody  chaos,  while  the  parties  of  traditional  order  will 
fly  to  bloody  reaction.  .  .  .  Heir  of  George  Washing- 
ton and  Abraham  Lincoln,  take  up  the  cause,  not  of  a 
party,  not  of  a  single  people,  but  of  all!  Summon  the 
representatives  of  the  peoples  to  the  Congress  of  Man- 
kind! Preside  over  it  with  the  full  authority  which 
you  hold  in  virtue  of  your  lofty  moral  consciousness  and 


350  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

in  virtue  of  the  great  future  of  America!  Speak,  speak 
to  all!  The  world  hungers  for  a  voice  which  will  over- 
leap the  frontiers  of  nations  and  of  classes.  Be  the 
arbiter  of  the  free  peoples!  Thus  may  the  future  hail 
you  by  the  name  of  Reconciler!" 

The  prophet's  voice  was  drowned  by  the  clamors  for 
revenge.  Bismarckism  triumphed.  Literally  fulfilled 
was  the  prophecy  that  the  peace  would  be  as  inhuman 
as  the  war  had  been.  Humanity  could  find  no  abiding 
place  among  men.  When  the  regeneration  of  Europe 
might  have  been  begun,  the  sinister  spirit  of  conquest 
continued  to  prevail.  "There  are  no  victors,  but  only 
vanquished." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

DECLARATION  OF  THE  INDEPENDENCE  OF  THE  MIND 

DESPITE  all  disillusionments,  Romain  Rolland, 
the  indomitable,  continued  his  addresses  to  the 
ultimate  court  of  appeal,  to  the  spirit  of  fel- 
lowship. On  the  day  when  peace  was  signed,  June  26, 
1919,  he  published  in  "L'Humanite'  a  manifesto  com- 
posed by  himself  and  subscribed  by  sympathizers  of  all 
nationalities.  In  a  world  falling  to  ruin,  it  was  to  be 
the  cornerstone  of  the  invisible  temple,  the  refuge  of  the 
disillusioned.  With  masterly  touch  Rolland  sums  up 
the  past,  and  displays  it  as  a  warning  to  the  future.  He 
issues  a  clarion  call. 

"Brain  workers,  comrades,  scattered  throughout  the 
world,  kept  apart  for  five  years  by  the  armies,  the  cen- 
sorship, and  the  mutual  hatred  of  the  warring  nations, 
now  that  barriers  are  falling  and  frontiers  are  being  re- 
opened, we  issue  to  you  a  call  to  reconstitute  our  broth- 1 
erly  union,  and  to  make  of  it  a  new  union  more  firmly 
founded  and  more  strongly  built  than  that  which  prev« 
iously  existed. 

"The  war  has  disordered  our  ranks.  Most  of  the  in- 
tellectuals placed  their  science,  their  art,  their  reason, 
at  the  service  of  the  governments.  We  do  not  wish 
to  formulate  any  accusations,  to  launch  any  reproaches. 

351 


352  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

We  know  the  weakness  of  the  individual  mind  and  the 
elemental  strength  of  great  collective  currents.  The 
latter,  in  a  moment,  swept  the  former  away,  for  noth- 
ing had  been  prepared  to  help  in  the  work  of  resist- 
ance. Let  this  experience,  at  least,  be  a  lesson  to  us 
for  the  future! 

"First  of  all,  let  us  point  out  the  disasters  that  have 
resulted  from  the  almost  complete  abdication  of  in- 
telligence throughout  the  world,  and  from  its  voluntary 
enslavement  to  the  unchained  forces.  Thinkers,  artists, 
have  added  an  incalculable  quantity  of  envenomed  hate 
to  the  plague  which  devours  the  flesh  and  the  spirit  of 
Europe.  In  the  arsenal  of  their  knowledge,  their  mem- 
ory, their  imagination,  they  have  sought  reasons  for 
hatred,  reasons  old  and  new,  reasons  historical,  scien- 
tific, logical,  and  poetical.  They  have  labored  to  de- 
stroy mutual  understanding  and  mutual  love  among 
men.  So  doing,  they  have  disfigured,  defiled,  debased, 
degraded.  Thought,  of  which  they  were  the  representa- 
tives. They  have  made  it  an  instrument  of  the  pas- 
sions; and  (unwittingly,  perchance)  they  have  made  it 
a  tool  of  the  selfish  interests  of  a  political  or  social 
clique,  of  a  state,  a  country,  or  a  class.  Now,  when, 
from  the  fierce  conflict  in  which  the  nations  have  been 
at  grips,  the  victors  and  the  vanquished  emerge  equally 
stricken,  impoverished,  and  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts 
(though  they  will  not  admit  it)  utterly  ashamed  of  their 
access  of  mania — -now,  Thought,  which  has  been  en- 
tangled in  their  struggles,  emerges,  like  them,  fallen 
from  her  high  estate. 


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INDEPENDENCE  OF  THE  MIND         353 

"Arise!  Let  us  free  the  mind  from  these  compro- 
mises, from  these  unworthy  alliances,  from  these  veiled 
slaveries!  Mind  is  no  one's  servitor.  It  is  we  who  are 
the  servitors  of  mind.  We  have  no  other  master.  We 
exist  to  bear  its  light,  to  defend  its  light,  to  rally 
round  it  all  the  strayed  sheep  of  mankind.  Our  role, 
our  duty,  is  to  be  a  center  of  stability,  to  point  out  the 
pole  star,  amid  the  whirlwind  of  passions  in  the  night. 
Among  these  passions  of  pride  and  mutual  destruc- 
tion, we  make  no  choice;  we  reject  them  all.  Truth  only 
do  we  honor;  truth  that  is  free,  frontierless,  limitless; 
truth  that  knows  naught  of  the  prejudices  of  race  or 
caste.  Not  that  we  lack  interest  in  humanity.  For  hu-  j 
manity  we  work;  but  for  humanity  as  a  whole.  We 
know  nothing  of  peoples.  We  know  the  People,  unique 
and  universal;  the  People  which  suffers,  which  struggles, 
which  falls  and  rises  to  its  feet  once  more,  and  which 
eontinues  to  advance  along  the  rough  road  drenched 
with  its  sweat  and  its  blood;  the  People,  all  men,  all 
alike  our  brothers.  In  order  that  they  may,  like  our- 
selves, realize  this  brotherhood,  we  raise  above  their 
blind  struggles  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant — Mind,  which  is 
free,  one  and  manifold,  eternal." 

Many  hundreds  of  persons  have  signed  this  manifesto, 
for  leading  spirits  in  every  land  accept  the  message  and 
make  it  their  own.  The  invisible  republic  of  the  spirit, 
the  universal  fatherland,  has  been  established  among  the 
races  and  among  the  nations.  Its  frontiers  are  open  to 
all  who  wish  to  dwell  therein;  its  only  law  is  that  of 
brotherhood;  its  only  enemies  are  hatred  and  arrogance 


354  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

between  nations.  Whoever  makes  his  home  within  this 
invisible  realm  becomes  a  citizen  of  the  world.  He  is 
the  heir,  not  of  one  people  but  of  all  peoples.  Hence- 
forward he  is  an  indweller  in  all  tongues  and  in  all 
countries,  in  the  universal  past  and  the  universal  future. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ENVOY 

STRANGE  has  been  the  rhythm  of  this  man's  life, 
surging  again  and  again  in  passionate  waves 
against  the  time,  sinking  once  more  into  the  abyss 
of  disappointment,  but  never  failing  to  rise  on  the  crest 
of  faith  renewed.  Once  again  we  see  Romain  Rolland 
as  prototype  of  those  who  are  magnificent  in  defeat. 
Not  one  of  his  ideals,  not  one  of  his  wishes,  not  one 
of  his  dreams,  has  been  realized.  Might  has  triumphed 
over  right,  force  over  spirit,  men  over  humanity. 

Yet  never  has  his  struggle  been  grander,  and  never 
has  his  existence  been  more  indispensable,  than  during 
recent  years;  for  it  is  his  apostolate  alone  which  has 
saved  the  gospel  of  crucified  Europe;  and  furthermore 
he  has  rescued  for  us  another  faith,  that  of  the  imagina- 
tive writer  as  the  spiritual  leader,  the  moral  spokesman 
of  his  own  nation  and  of  all  nations.  This  man  of  let- 
ters has  preserved  us  from  what  would  have  been  an 
imperishable  shame,  had  there  been  no  one  in  our  days 
to  testify  against  the  lunacy  of  murder  and  hatred.  To 
him  we  owe  it  that  even  during  the  fiercest  storm  in  his- 
tory the  sacred  fire  of  brotherhood  was  never  extin- 
guished.    The  world  of  the  spirit  has  no  concern  with 

355 


356  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

the  deceptive  force  of  numbers.  In  that  realm,  one 
individual  can  outweigh  a  multitude.  For  an  idea  never 
glows  so  brightly  as  in  the  mind  of  the  solitary  thinker; 
and  in  the  darkest  hour  we  were  able  to  draw  consola- 
tion from  the  signal  example  of  this  poet.  One  great 
man  who  remains  human  can  for  ever  and  for  all  men 
'rescue  our  faith  in  humanity. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


WORKS  BY  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 


CRITICAL  STUDIES 

Les  origines  du  theatre  lyrique  moderne.     (Histoire  de  I'opera 

en  Europe  avant  Lully  et  Scarlatti.)      Fontemoing,  Paris, 

1895. 
Cur  ars  picturae.apud  Italos  XVI  saeculi  deciderit.     Fontemo- 

ing,  Paris,  1895. 
Millet.     Duckworth,  London,  1902   (has  appeared  in  English 

translation  only). 
Vie  de  Beethoven.     (Vie  des  hommes  illustres.)     Cahiers  de 

la  quinzaine,   serie  IV,   No.   10,   Paris,   1903;    Hachette, 

Paris,  1907;  another  edition  with  woodcuts  by  Perrichon, 

J.  P.  Laurens,  P.  A.  Laurens,  and  Perrichon,  published  by 

Edouard  Pelletan,  Paris,  1909. 
Le  Theatre  du  Peuple.     Cahiers  de  la  quinzaine,  serie  V,  No. 

4,  Paris,  1903;  Hachette,  Paris,  1908;  enlarged  edition, 

Hachette,  Paris,  1913;  Ollendorff,  Paris,  1920. 
Paris  als  Musikstadt.     Marquardt,  Berlin,  1905  (has  appeared 

in  German  translation  only) . 
La  vie  de  Michel-Ange.     (Vie  des  hommes  illustres.)     Cahiers 

de  la  quinzaine,  serie  VII,  No.   18;   serie  VIII,   No.  2, 

Paris,  1906;  Hachette,  Paris,  1907. 

Another  edition  in  Les  maitres  de  I'art  series,  Librairie 

de  I'art,  ancien  et  moderne,  Plon,  Paris,  1905. 
Musiciens  d'autrefois,  Hachette,  Paris,  1908*. 

1.  L'o^era  avant   I'opera.     2.  Le  premier  opera  joue  a 

Paris:  L'Orfeo  de  Luigi  Rossi.     3.  Notes  sur  Lully.     4. 

Gluck.     5.  Gretry.     6.  Mozart. 
^S9 


360  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Musiciens  d'aujourd'hui,  Hachette,  Paris,  1908. 

1.  Berlioz.     2.  Wagner:     Siegfried;     Tristan.     3.  Saint- 

Saens.     4.     Vincent     d'Indy.     5.     Richard     Strauss.     6. 

Hugo  Wolf.     7.  Don  Lorenzo  Perosi.     8.  Musique  fran- 

gaise   et    musique    allemande.     9.  Pelleas   et    Melisande. 

10.  Le  renouveau:  esquisse  du  movement  musical  a  Paris 

depuis  1870. 
Paul  Dupin.     Mercure  musical.    S.  J.  M.     15/12,  1908. 
Haendel.      (Les  maitres  de  la  musique.)      Alcan,  Paris,  1910. 
Vie  de  Tolstoi.     (Vie  des  hommes  illustres.)     Hachette,  Paris, 

1911. 
L'humble  vie  heroique.     Pensees  choisies  et  precedees  d'une 

introduction  par  Alphonse  Seche.     Sansot,  Paris,  1912. 
Empedocle  d'  Agrigente.     Le  Carmel,  Geneva,  1917;  La  mai- 

son  francaise  d'art  et  d'edition,  Paris,  1918. 
Voyage  musical  aux  pays  du  passe.     With  woodcuts  by  D. 

Galanis.     Edouard  Joseph,  Paris,  1919;  Hachette,  Paris, 

1920. 
Ecole  des  Hautes  Etudes  Sociales  (1900-1910).    Alcan,  Paris, 

1910. 

II 

POLITICAL  STUDIES 

Au-dessus  de  la  melee.     Ollendorff,  Paris,  1915. 

Les  precurseurs.     L'Humanite,  Paris,  1919. 

Aux  peuples  assassines.  Jeunesses  Socialistes  Romandes,  La 
Chaux-de-Fonds,  1917;  Ollendorff,  Paris,  1920. 

Aux  peuples  assassines  (under  the  title:  Civilisation).  Pri- 
vately printed,  Paris,  1918. 

Aux  peuples  assassines.  As  frontispiece  a  wood-engraving  by 
Frans  Masereel.  Restricted  circulation.  Ollendorff, 
Paris,  1920. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  361 

III 
NOVELS 

Jean-Christophe.  15  parts  190H912.  Cahiers  de  la  quin- 
zaine,  Serie  V,  Nos.  9  and  10;  Serie  VI,  No.  8;  Serie  VIII, 
Nos.  4,  6,  9;  Serie  IX,  Nos.  13,  14,  15;  Serie  X,  Nos.  9, 
10;  Serie  XI,  Nos.  7,  8;  Serie  XIII,  Nos.  5,  6;  Serie  XIV, 
Nos.  2,  3;  Paris,  1904  et  seq. 

Jean-Christophe.     10  vols. 

1.  L'aube.       2.  Le  matin.      3.  L'adolescent.      4.  La  re- 
volte.     (1904^1907.) 

Jean-Christophe  a  Paris. 

1.  La   foire   sur    la    place.     2.  Antoinette.     3.  Dans   la 
maison.     (1908-1910.) 

Jean-Christophe.     La  fin  du  voyage. 

1.  Les    amies.     2.  Le    buisson    ardent.     3.  La    nouvelle 
journee.     (1910-1912.) 
Ollendorff,  Paris. 

Colas  Breugnon.     Ollendorff,  Paris,  1918. 

Pierre  et  Luce.  Le  Sablier,  Geneva,  1920;  Ollendorff,  Paris, 
1920. 

Clerambault.     Ollendorff,  Paris,  1920. 

IV 

PREFACES 

Introduction  to  Une  lettre  inedite  de  Tolstoi,  Cahiers  de  la 

quinzaine,  Serie  III,  No.  9,  Paris,  1902. 
Haendel  et  le  Messie.     (Preface  to  Le  Messie  de  G.  F.  Haendel 

by  Felix  Raugel.)      Depot  de  la  Societe  cooperative  des 

compositeurs  de  musique,  Paris,  1912. 
Stendhal  et  la  musique.      (Preface  to  La  vie  de  Haydn  in  the 

complete  edition  of  Stendhal's  works.)      Champion,  Paris, 

1913. 


362  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Preface  lo  Celles  qui  travaillent  by  Simone  Bodeve,  Ollendorff, 

Paris,  1913. 
Preface  to  Une  voix  de  femme  dans  la  melee  by  Marcelle  Capy, 

Ollendorff,  Paris,  1916. 
Anthologie  des  poetes  centre  la  guerre.     Le  Sablier,  Geneva, 

1920. 


DRAMAS 

Saint  Louis.     (5  acts.)     Revue  de  Paris,  March-April,  1897. 

Aert.     (3  acts.)     Revue  de  I'art  dramatique,  Paris,  1898. 

Les  loups.     (3  acts.)     Georges  Bellais,  Paris,  1898. 

Le  triomphe  de  la  raison.  (3  acts.)  Revue  de  Fart  dra- 
matique, Paris,  1899. 

Danton.  (3  acts.)  Revue  de  Part  dramatique,  Paris,  1900; 
Cahiers  de  la  quinzaine,  Serie  II,  No.  6,  1901. 

Le  quatorze  juillet.     (3  acts.)     Cahiers  de  la  quinzaine,  Serie 

III,  No.  11,  Paris,  1902. 

,/     Le  temps  viendra.     (3  acts.)     Cahiers  de  la  quinzaine,  Serie 

IV,  No.  14,  Paris,  1903;  Ollendorff,  Paris,  1920. 
x^'Les  trois  amoureuses.     (3  acts.)     Revue  de  Part  dramatique, 

Paris,  1904. 
.       La  Montespan.     (3  acts.)     Revue  de  Part  dramatique,  Paris, 

1904.  V 

Theatre  de  la  Revolution.  ^        ,  ,      ^^ . 

Les  loups.     Danton.     Le  quatorze  juillet. 

Hachette,  Paris,  1909  (now  transferred  to  Ollendorff). 
Les  tragedies  de  la  foi. 

Saint  Louis.     Aert.     Le  triomphe  de  la  raison. 

Hachette,  Paris,  1909  (now  transferred  to  Ollendorff). 
Liluli    (with    woodcuts    by    Frans    Masereel).     Le    Sablier, 

Geneva,  1919;  Ollendorff,  Paris,*  1920. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  363 

TRANSLATIONS 
English 

Millet.  Translated  by  Clementina  Black.  Duckworth,  Lon- 
don, 1902. 

Beethoven.     Translated  by  F.  Rothwell.     Drane,  London,  1907, 

Beethoven.  Translated  by  Constance  Hull.  With  a  brief 
analysis  of  the  sonatas,  symphonies,  and  the  quartets, 
by  A.  Eaglefield  Hull,  and  24  musical  illustrations  and  4 
plates  and  an  introduction  by  Edward  Carpenter.  Kegan 
Paul,  Trench,  Trubner,  London,  1917. 

The  Life  of  Michael  Angelo.  Translated  by  Frederic  Lees. 
Heinemann,  London,  1912. 

Tolstoy.  Translated  by  Bernard  Miall.  Fisher  Unwin,  Lon- 
don, 1911. 

Some  Musicians  of  former  Days.  Translated  by  Mary  Blaik- 
lock.     Kegan  Paul,  Trench,  Trubner,  London,  1915. 

Handel.  Translated  by  A.  Eaglefield  Hull.  Kegan  Paul, 
Trench,  Trubner,  London,  1916. 

Musicians  of  To-day.  Translated  by  Mary  Blaiklock.  Kegan 
Paul,  Trench,  Trubner,  London,  1915. 

The  People's  Theater.  Translated  by  Barrett  H.  Clark.  Holt, 
New  York,  1918;  G.  Allen  &  Unwin,  London,  1919. 

Go  to  the  Ant.  (Reflections  on  reading  Auguste  Sorel.) 
Translated  by  De  Kay.  Atlantic  Monthly,  May,  1919, 
New  York. 

Above  the  Battlefield.  With  an  introduction  by  G.  Lowes  Dick- 
inson, Bowes,  Cambridge,  1914. 

Above  the  Battlefield.  With  an  introduction  by  Rev.  Richards 
Roberts,  M.A.     Friends'  Peace  Committee,  London,  1915. 

Above  the  Battle.  Translated  by  C.  K.  Ogden.  G.  Allen  & 
Unwin,  London,  1916. 

The  Idols.     Translated  by  C.  K.  Ogden.     With  a  letter  by  R. 


364  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

Holland  to  Dr.  van  Eeden  on  the  rights  of  small  .nations 

Bowes,  Cambridge,  1915. 
The   Forerunners.     Translated   by   Eden   &   Cedar   Paul.     G 

Allen  &  Unwin,  London,  1920;  Harcourt,  Brace,  U.  S.  A 

1920. 
The  Fourteenth  of  July  and  Danton:  two  plays  of  the  French 

Revolution.     Translated    with    a    preface   by   Barrett   H 

Clarke.     Holt,  New  York,  1918;  G.  Allen  &  Unwin,  Lon 

don,  1919. 
Liluli.     The  Nation,  London,  Sept.  20  to  Nov.  29,  1919;  Boni 

&  Liveright,  New  York,  1920. 
Jean    Christophe.     Translated    by    Gilbert    Cannan.     Heine 

mann,  London,  1910-1913;  Holt,  New  York,  1911-1913. 
Colas  Breugnon.     Translated  by  K.  Miller.     Holt,  New  York 

1919. 
Clerambault.     Translated  by   K.   Miller.     Holt,   New   York, 

1921. 

German 

Beethoven.  Translated  by  L.  Langnese-Hug.  Rascher,  Zurich, 
1917. 

Michelangelo.  Translated  by  W.  Herzog.  Riitten  &  Loenig, 
Frankfort,  1918. 

Michelangelo.     Rascher,  Zurich,  1919. 

Tolstoi.  Translated  by  W.  Herzog.  Riitten  &  Loenig,  Frank- 
fort, 1920. 

Den  hingeschlachteten  Volkern,  translated  by  Stefan  Zweig. 
Rascher,  Zurich,  1918. 

Au-dessus  de  la  melee.     Riitten  &  Loening,  Frankfort. 

Les  precurseurs.     Riitten  &  Loeing,  Frankfort,  1920. 

Johann  Christof.  Translated  by  Otto  &  Erna  Grautoflf.  Riit- 
ten &  Loening,  Frankfort,  1912-1918. 

Meister  Breugnon.  Translated  by  Otto  &  Erna  GrautofiF. 
Riitten  &  Loening,  Frankfort,  1919. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  365 

Clerambault.     Translated  by  Stefan  Zweig.     Riitten  &  Loaning, 

Frankfort,  1920. 
Die  Wolfe.     Translated  by  W.  Herzog.     Muller,  Munich,  1914. 
Danton.     Translated    by   Lucy   von   Jacobi   and   W.    Herzog. 

Muller,  Munich,  1919. 
Die  Zeit  wird  kommen.     Translated  by  Stefan  Zweig.     "Die 

Zwolf  Bucher,"  Tal,  Vienna,  1920. 

Spanish 

Vie  de  Beethoven.     Translated  by  J.  R.  Jimenez,  a  la  Resi- 

dentia  de  Estudiantes  de  Madrid,  1914. 
Au-dessus  de  la  melee.     Delgado  &  Santonja,  Madrid,  1916. 
Jean-Christophe.     Translated  by  Toro  y  Gomez.     Ollendorff, 

Paris-Madrid,   1905-1910. 
Colas  Breugnon.     Agence  de  Librairie,  Madrid,  1919. 

Italian 

Au-dessus  de  la  melee.     Avanti,  Milan,  1916. 

Aux  peuples  assassines.     Translated  by  Monanni  with  drawings 

by  Frans  Masereel.     Libreria  Internationale,  Zurich,  1917. 
Jean-Christophe.    Translated  by  Cesare  Alessandri.    Sonzogno, 

Milan,  1920. 
Vie  de  Michel-Ange.     Translated  by  Maria  Venti.     Felice  le 

Monnier,  Florence.     [In  the  press.] 

Russian 

Theatre  de  la  Revolution.     Translated  by  Joseph  Goldenberg, 

St.  Petersburg.     1909. 
Theatre  du  Peuple.     Translated  by  Joseph  Goldenberg.     St. 

Petersburg.     1909. 
Empedocle  dAgrigente.     [In  the  press.] 
Jean-Christophe.     Unauthorized  translation  in  4  vols.     Vetch- 

erni  Zvon,  Moscow,  1912. 
Jean-Christophe.     Authorized  translation  by  M.  TchlenoflF. 


366  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Danish 

Vie  de  Beethoven.     Branner,  Copenhagen,  1915. 
Tolstoi.     Branner,  Copenhagen,  1917. 
Musiciens  d'aujourd'hui.     Denmark  &  Norway,  1917. 
Au-dessus  de  la  melee.     Lios,  Copenhagen,  1916. 
Jean-Christophe.     Hagerup,  Copenhagen,  1916. 
Colas  Breugnon.     Denmark  &  Norway;  Norstedt,  Stockholm, 
1917. 

Czech 

Vie  de  Michel-Ange.     Translated  by  M.  Kalassova.     Prague, 

1912. 
Danton.     1920. 

Polish 

Vie  de  Beethoven.     Jacewski,  Warsaw,  1913. 

Jean-Christophe.     Translated   by   Edwige   Sienkiewicz.     Vols. 

I  &  II,  Bibljoteka  Sfinska,  Warsaw,  1910;  the  remaining 

vols.,  Maski,  Cracow,  1917-19 — . 

Swedish 

Vie  de  Beethoven.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Akermann,  Norstedt, 

Stockholm.     1915. 
Vie  de  Michelange.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Akermann,  Norstedt, 

Stockhobn.     1916. 
Vie    de   Tolstoi.     Translated    by    Mrs.    Akermann,    Norstedt, 

Stockholm.     1916. 
Handel.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Akermann,  Norstedt,  Stockholm. 

1916. 
Millet.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Akermann,  Norstedt,  Stockholm. 

1916. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  367 

Musiciens    d'aujourd'IiU',     Translated    by    Mrs.    Akermann 

Norstedt,  Stockholm.     :'.917. 
Musiciens  d'autrefois.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Akermann,  Nor 

stedt,  Stockholm.     1917. 
Voyage  musical  au  pays  du  passe.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Aker 

mann,  Norstedt,  Stockholm.     1920. 
Au-dessus  de  la  melee.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Akermann,  Nor 

stedt,  Stockholm.     1915. 
Les   precurseurs.     Translated    by   Mrs.   Akermann,   Norstedt 

Stockholm.     1920. 
Theatre   de   la   Revolution.     Translated   by   Mrs.   Akermann 

Bonnier,  Stockholm.     1917. 
Tragedies  de  la  foi.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Akermann,  Boimier 

Stockholm.     1917. 
Le  temps  viendra.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Akermann,  Norstedt 

Stockholm. 
Liluli.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Akermann,  Bonnier,  Stockholm 

1920. 
Jean-Christophe.     Translated    by    Mrs.    Akermann,    Bonnier 

Stockholm.     1913-1917. 
Colas   Breugnon.     Translated   by   Mrs.   Akermann,   Norstedt 

Stockholm.     1919. 
Clerambault.     In  course  of  preparation.     Bormier,  Stockholm 

Dutch 

Vie  de  Beethoven,  Simon,  Amsterdam,  1913. 

Jean-Christophe.     Brusse,  Rotterdam,  1915. 

L'aube.     Special   edition,   W.   F.   J.   Tjeenk  Willink,  ZwoUe, 

1916. 
Colas  Breugnon.     MeulenhofF,  Amsterdam,  1919. 

Japanese 

Tolstoi.     Seichi  Naruse,  Tokyo,  1916. 

And  many  other  unauthorized  translations. 


368  ROMAIN  HOLLAND 

Greek 
Beethoven.     Translated  by  Niramos.     1920. 

WORKS  ON  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 
French 

Jean  Bonnerot.     Remain  Rolland  (Extraits  de  ses  oeuvres  avec 

introduction  biographique),  Cahiers  du  Centre,   Nevers, 

1909. 
Lucien  Maury.     Figures  litteraires.     Perrin,  1911. 
/.   H.  Retinger.     Histoire  de  la  litterature  frangaise  du  ro- 

mantisme  a  nos  jours.     B.  Grasset,  1911. 
Jules  Bertaut.     Les   romanciers   du  nouveau   siecle.     Sansot, 

1912. 
Paul  Seippel.     Romain  Rolland,  rhomme  et  I'oeuvre.     Ollen- 
dorff, 1913. 
Marc  Elder.     Romain  Rolland.     Paris,  1914. 
Robert  Dreyfus.     Maitres   contemporains.     (Peguy,   Claudel, 

Suares,  Romain  Rolland.)      Paris,  1914. 
Daniel    Halevy.     Quelques    nouveaux    maitres.     Cahiers    du 

Centre.     Figuiere,  1914. 
G.  Dwelshauvers.     Romain  Rolland.     Vue  caracteristique  de 

I'homme  et  de  I'ceuvre.     Ed.  de  la  Belgique  artistique  et 

litteraire,  Brussels,  1913  or  1914. 
Paul  Souday.     Les  drames  philosophiques  de  Romain  Rolland. 

Emile  Paul,  Paris,  1914. 
Max   Hochstdtter.     Essai    sur    I'ceuvre    de    Romain    Rolland. 

Fischbacher,  Paris;  Georg  &  Co.,  Geneva,  1914. 
Henri  Guilbeaux.     Pour  Romain  Rolland.     Jeheber,  Geneva, 

1915. 
Massis.     Romain  Rolland   contre  la  France.     Floury,   Paris, 

1915. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  369 

P.   H.   Loysoji.     Etes-vous   neutre   devant    le   crime?     Payot, 

Paris  and  Lausanne,  1916. 
RenaitouT  et  Loyson.     Dans  la  melee.     Ed.  du  Bonnet  Rouge, 

1916. 
Isabelle  Debran.     M.  Remain  Rolland  initiateur  du  defaitisme. 

(Introduction  de  Diodore.)      Geneva,  1918. 
Jacques  Servance.     Reponse  a  Mme.  Isabelle  Debran.     Comitc 

d'initiative  en  faveur  d'une  paix  durable,  Neuchatel,  1916. 
Charles   Baudouin,   Romain    Rolland   calomnie.     Le   Carmel, 

Geneva,  1918. 
Daniel  Halevy.     Charles  Peguy  et  les  Cahiers  de  la  Quinzaine. 

Payot,  Paris,  1918  et  seq. 
Paul  Colin.     Romain  Rolland,  Bruxelles,  1920. 
P.  J.  Jouve.     Romain  Rolland  vivant,  Ollendorff,  1920. 

Other  Languages 

Otto  Grautoff.     Romain  Rolland,  Frankfurt,  1914. 

Winifred  Stephens.  French  Novelists  of  To-day.  Second 
series.     J.  Lane,  London  and  New  York,  1915. 

Albert  L.  Guerard.  Five  Masters  of  French  Romance.  Scrib' 
ner.  New  York,  1916. 

Dr.  J.  Ziegler.  Romain  Rolland  in  "Johann  Christof,"  iiber 
Juden  und  Judentum.  v.  Dr.  Ziegler,  Rabbiner  in  Karls- 
bad.    Vienna,  1918. 

Agnes  Darmesteter.  Twentieth  Century  French  Writers.  Lon- 
don, 1919. 

Blumenfeld.  Etude  sur  Romain  Rolland,  en  langue  yiddisch. 
Cahiers  de  litterature  et  d'art.     Paris,  1920. 

Albert  Schinz.  French  Literature  of  the  War.  Appleton,  New 
York,  1920. 

Pedro  Cesare  Dominici.  De  Lutecia,  Arte  y  Critica.  Ollen- 
dorff, Madrid. 

Papini.     Studii  di  Romain  Rolland.     Florence,  1916. 

F.  F.  Curtis.  Die  literarischen  Wegbereiter  des  neuen  Frank- 
reichs.     Kiepenheuer,  Potsdam,  1920. 


370  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

Walter  Kiichler.     Vier  Vortrage  iiber  R.  Rolland,  Henri  Bar- 
busse,  Fritz  v.  Unruh,     Wiirzburg,  1919. 

Music  Connected  with  Romain  Rolland's  Writings 

Paul  Dupin.     Jean-Christophe.     (Trois  pieces  pour  piano.) 

1.  L'oncle  Gottfried  (dialogue  avee  Christophe). 

2.  Meditation  sur  un  passage  du  "Matin." 

3.  Berceuse  de  Louisa. 

Chant  du   Pelerin    (piano   et  chant).     Paroles  de  Paul 
Gerhardt.     Ed.  Demets,  Paris,  1907. 
Paul    Dupin.       Jean-Christophe,        (Suite    pour    quatuor    a 
cordes.) 

1.  La  mort  de  l'oncle  Gottfried. 

2.  Bienvenue  au  petit. 

Ed.  Senart  et  Roudanez,  Paris,  1908. 
Paul  Dupin.     Pastorale,  Sabine.     1.  Dans  le  Jardinet.     Piano 

et   quatuor.     Transcription    pour    piano    et   violon.     Ed. 

Senart  et  Roudanez,  Paris,  1908. 
Albert  Doyen.     Le  Triomphe  de  la  Liberte.     (Scene  finale  du 

Quatorze  Juillet).     Prix  de  la  ville  de  Paris,  1913.     (Soli, 

Orchestra  et  Choeurs.)     Ed.  A.  Leduc,  Paris. 


INDEX 


Above   the  Battle,  266,   290,  291,      Bibliography,  357  S. 


293-6,  297,  305,  329. 
Abbesse  de  Jouarre,  V,  125. 
Aert,  66,   73,   77-8,   83-5,  87,    112. 
Aert,  77-8,  83-5,  121,  125,  161,  198, 

244,  260,  347. 

Antoinette,  in  Jean  Christophe,  4, 
165,  175,  212,  224. 

Arcos,  Rene,  312,  313. 

Art,  love  of,  and  love  of  mankind, 
20;  epic  quality  in  Rolland's, 
63-66,  67  ff;  moral  force  in 
Rolland's,  63  ff;  Tolstoi's  views 
on,  18-20;  universality  of,  26. 

Au-dessus  de  la  melee,  see  Above 
the  Battle. 

Aux  peuples  assassines,  332. 

Bach,  Friedemann,  173. 

Bach,  Johann  Sebastian,  173,  245. 

Ballades  frangaises,  250. 

Balzac,  64,  65,   169,  177,  250. 

Barres,  Maurice,  59,  62. 

Baudouin,  Charles,  313. 

Beethoven,   50,   137  ff,    140-3,    150. 

Beethoven,  10,  18,  19,  40,  45,  67, 
104,  140-143,  144,  145,  147,  148, 
151,  161,  163,  172,  174,  175,  182, 

245,  252,  325,  328;  festival,  35, 
influence  of,  on  Rolland's  child- 
hood, 5ff;  Jean  Christophe's 
resemblance  to,  173. 

Beginnings  of  Opera,  The,  34. 
Belgique  sanglante,  la,  282. 
Berlioz,  10,  150. 


Biographies,  heroic,  133-53;  un- 
written, 150-3. 

Bonn,  35,  140,  141. 

Brahms,   174. 

Breal,  Michel,  35. 

Breugnon,  Colas,  in  Colas  BreU' 
gnon,  241-53,  319;  spiritual 
kinship  of,  with  Jean  Christophe, 
244-48;  see  Colas  Breugnon. 

Brunetiere,  16. 

Burckhardt,  Jakob,  16. 

Byron,  275. 

"Cahiers  de  la  quinzaine"  20,  40, 
43,  50,  143. 

Caligula,  73. 

"Carmel,  le,"  313. 

Carnot,  99. 

Claes,  in  Aert,  87. 

Clamecy,  birthplace  of  RoUand,  3, 
4,99. 

Claudel,  Paul,  89,  44,  59. 

Clerambault,  I'histoire  d'une  con- 
science litre  pendant  la  guerre, 
339-347. 

Qerambault,  Agenor,  in  Cleram- 
bault, 310,  339-347. 

Qerambault,  Maxime,  343  ff. 

Qifford,  General,  in  A  Day  Will 
Come,  120,  121,  125. 

Colas  Breugnon,  241-153,  337;  as 
an  artistic  production,  249-51; 
gauloiseries  in,  249-51;  origin 
of,  24143. 


371 


372 


INDEX 


Comedie  Frangaise,  71,  74. 
Conscience,    story   of,    in    Cleram- 

bault,  33947;    see  Freedom  of 

conscience. 
Corneille,  91,  92. 
Couthon,  99. 

Credo  quia  verum,  16,  17. 
Corinne,  in  Jean  Christophe,  211. 
Cycles,  of  Holland,  67-71. 

D'Alembert,  87. 

Danse  des  marts,  312. 

Danton,  41,  101,  106-9,  113,   117. 

Danton,  99,  106-9,  113,  126. 

Debrit,  Jean,  313. 

Debussy,  35,  175. 

Declaration  of  the  independence  of 
the  mind,  351-354. 

Decsey,  Ernest,  174. 

Defeat,  significance  of,  in  Rolland's 
philosophy  of  life,  61,  62,  83  ff, 
110  ff,    134  ff,    139. 

"Defeatism,"  297-303. 

De  Maguet,  Claude,  313. 

"Demain,"    313. 

Depres,   Suzanne,   175. 

Desmoulins,  126. 

Despres,  Fernand,  312. 

Deutscher  Musiker  in  Paris,  Ein, 
174. 

"Deutsche  Rundschau,  Die,"  305. 

Don  Carlos,  101. 

Dostoievsky,  2,  346. 

Doyen,   105. 

D'Oyron,  in  The  Wolves,  114. 

Drama,  and  the  masses,  see  People's 
Theater;  erotic  vs.  political, 
127  ff:  Drama  of  the  Revolution, 
69,   70,  86-99,   100-18. 

Dramatic  writings,  of  Holland,  25, 
32,  39,  41,  57-130;  craftsman- 
ship of,  127-130;  cycles,  67-71; 
Drama   of  the   Revolution,   100- 


130;  People's  Theater,  85-130; 
poems,  28;  tragedies  of  faith, 
76-85;   unknown  cycle,  71-75. 

Drames    philosophiques,    125. 

Dreyfus  affair,   38,   39,    106,   115, 

119,  133. 

Dunois,    Amedee,    312. 
Duse,  Eleanore,   175. 

Empedocle    d'Agrigente    et    I'dge 

de  la  haine,  72,  333  ff. 
Etes-vous  neutre  devant  le  crime, 

283. 

Faber,  in  Le  triomphe  de  la  raison, 

111,   114,  309. 
Faith,  in   Rolland's   philosophy  of 

life,  77-79,  81  ff,  166-71,  244  ff; 

tragedies  of,  76-85. 
Fellowship,  of  free  spirits,  during 

the   war,   273    ff,   311-316:    351, 

354. 
Fetes  de  Beethoven,  les,  141. 
"Feuille,   la,"   313. 
Flaubert,  37,  58,  80,  177. 
Forerunners,  The,  290,  339-334 
Fort,   Paul,   250. 
Fourteenth    of    July,    The,    101-2, 

103-5,    109. 
France,  after  1870,  57;  picture  of, 

in  Jean  Christophe,  211-216 
France,  Anatole,  58,  84,  169. 
Frank,  Cesar,  175. 
Frank,  Ludwig,  321. 
Freedom,    of    conscience,    287    ff, 

257-9,    119,    274,    285-8,    298  ff, 

320  ff,  33947 ;  vs.  the  fatherland, 

see  The  Triumph  of  Reason. 
French    literature,   state    of,    after 

1870,  37,  58  ff. 
French  Revolution,  68,  98  ff,   100- 

120,  121,  122;  see  Drama  of  the 


INDEX 


373 


Revolution;    also   People's   The- 
ater. 
French  stage,  after  1870,  86-89. 

Galeries  des  fernmes  de  Shake- 
speare, 6. 

Gamaclie,  in  Jean  Christophe,  175. 

"Gauloiseries,"    250. 

Generations,  conflicting  ideas  of 
the  229-234. 

Geneva,    during    the    Great    War, 

268  fr. 

Germany,     picture     of,     in     Jean 

Christophe,    217-220. 
Girondists,    in    The    Triumph    of 

Reason,  110  ff,  121,  129,  169,  260. 
Gli  Baglioni,  73,  74. 
Gluck,  173,  175,  212. 
Goethe,  64,  72,  97,  118,   150,  155, 

169,  175,  177,  180,  211,  184,  193, 

219,    230,    263,    275,    278,    305, 

330,  332. 
Gottfried,  in  Jean  Christophe,  204. 
Grautofr,  166,  168. 
Grazia,    in   Jean    Christophe,    175, 

200-202,  205. 
Greatness,    will    to,    in    Holland's 

philosophy,    63. 
Great  War,  The,  1,  65,  257-355,  253, 

264  ff ,  339-347. 
Greek  tragedy,  method  of,  128  ff 
Griine  Heinrich,  Der,  169. 
Guilbeaux,  Henri,  281,  313. 

Haendel  34. 

Handel,  150,  173,  175,  245. 

Hatred  Holland's  campaign  against, 

297-304;  Verhaeren's  attitude  of, 

during  the  war,  2814. 
Hauptmann,    92,    276;     Rolland's 

controversy  with,  277-280. 
Hardy,   Thomas,  64. 
Hassler  in  Jean  Christophe,   174, 

204. 


Hebbel,  73,  123. 

Hecht,  in  Jean  Christophe,  175. 

Heroes   of   suffering,   133-153. 

Heroic  biographies,  133-153. 

Herzen,  26. 

Historical     drama,     see     People's 

Theater  . 
History,  and  the  People's  Theater, 

95   ff;    Rolland's   conception   of, 

95  ff;  sense  of,  in  early  writings, 

32. 
Hoche,  General,  150. 
Holderlin,  73. 
Hugot,  in  The  Triumph  of  Reason, 

63,  111,  114. 
Hugo,  Victor,  37,  64,  92,  121. 

Idoles  les,  299. 

"Iliad  of  the  French  People,"  see 
People's  Theater. 

Illusions  perdues,  les,  65. 

Inter   Arma   Caritas,    297. 

Iphigenia,   1 18. 

Italy,  picture  of,  in  Jean  Christophe, 
221-3. 

Idealism,  in  Rolland's  philosophy, 
60  ff,  85,  123,  166-71;  char- 
acterization of  Germany,  211-216; 
of  Italy,  222. 

Internationalism,  207-10,  255,  285- 
8,  351-4;  see  Above  the  Battle; 

Fellowship,  of  free  spirits; 
Hatred,  Rolland's  campaign 
against. 

Ibsen,  126  ff. 

Italy,  Rolland's  sojourn  in,  23-28, 
71. 

Jaures,  13,   41,  109,  346. 

Jean  Christophe,  18,  30,  36,  49, 
65,  70,  130,  143,  157-237,  165, 
257,  300,  305,  311,  318,  339,  340; 
as  an  educational  romance,  166* 


374 


INDEX 


71;  characters  of,  172-5;  enigma 
of  creative  work,  181-7;  France, 
picture  of,  in,  211-16;  genera- 
tions, conflicting  ideas  of,  in 
229-34;  Germany,  picture  of,  in, 
217-220;  Italy,  picture  of,  in 
221-3;  Jews,  the,  in,  224-8;  mes- 
sage of,  157-159;  music,  form 
and  content  of,  177-80;  origin  of 
162-5;   writing  of,  43-44-,  162-5. 

Jean  Christophe,  26,  31,  38,  40,  42, 
43,  49,  50,  65,  68,  76,  97,  153, 
157-237,  241,  246,  257,  258,  260, 
317,  336,  340,  342;  and  Grazia, 
200-1;  and  his  fellow  men,  203-6; 
and  his  generation,  229-36;  and 
the  nations,  207-10;  apostle  of 
force,  189  ff ;  as  the  artist  and 
creator,  188-94;  character  of, 
172-75;  contrast  to  Olivier, 
195  ff. 

Jouve,    287,    312,    313. 

Justice,  problem  of,  considered  by 
RoUand  in  Dreyfus  case,  39;  vs. 
the  fatherland,  see  The  Wolves. 

Kaufmann,    Emil,    174. 
Keller,    Gottfried,    169,    177. 
Kleist,  73,  92. 
Kohn,  Sylvain,  in  Jean  Christophe, 

212,    224. 
Krafft,  Jean  Christophe,  see  Jean 

Christophe. 

Language,  as  obstacle  to  interna- 
tionalism, 229  ff . 

Lazare,  Bernard,  39,  143. 

Lebens  Abend  einer  Idealistin, 
Der,  27,  73. 

Legende  de  Saint  Julien  VHospi- 
talier,  80. 

Letters,  of  RoUand,  during  war, 
317-19. 


Levy-Coeur,  in  Jean  Christophe, 
175,  205,  224. 

Le  14  Juillet,  see  Fourteenth  of 
July,  The. 

Liberty,  characterization  of  France, 
211-16. 

Life  of  Michael  Angela,  The,  40, 
14446. 

Life  of  Timolien,  131. 

Liluli,   300,   335-338,   339. 

Loups,  les,  see  The  Wolves. 

Lux,  Adams,  101,  111,  112,  309. 

Lyceum  of  Louis  the  Great,  8. 

Madame   Bovary,  64. 

Mahler,  Gustave,  35,  175. 

Mannheim,  Judith,  in  Jean  Chris- 
tophe, 226. 

Marat,   101. 

Martinet,  Marcel,  312. 

Masereel,  Franz,  313. 

Maupassant,  13,  58,  64,  91,  26,  150. 

Mazzini,   151,  222. 

Meistersinger,   Die,   92. 

Mesnil,  Jacques,  312, 

Meunier,  87. 

Meutre  des  elites,  le,  297. 

Meyerbeer,  212. 

Michelangelo,  67,  71,  144-6,  147, 
148,  151,  161,  182,  245. 

Michelet,  13. 

Millet,  87,  50. 

Mirbeau,  85. 

Moliere,  92. 

Monod  Gabriel,  13,  16,  26,  73. 

Mon   Oncle   Benjamin,   3. 

Montespan,  la,  73,  119. 

Mooch,  in  Jean  Christophe,  224. 

Moreas,  175. 

Mornet,  Lieutenant,  306. 

Mounet-SuUy,  74. 

Mozart,  5,  173. 

Music,  early  influence  of,  on  Rol- 


INDEX 


375 


land,  4;  form  and  content  in 
Jean  Christophe  177-80;  part  of 
Holland's  drama  104  ff;  Hol- 
land's love  of,  47;  Rolland's 
philosophy  of,  132-3;  Tolstoi's 
stigraatization  of  19. 
Musiciens  d'autrefois,  34,  35,  183. 

Nationalistic     school     of     writers 

59,  60,  62. 
Nationalism,    20811;    217-20,    225, 

226. 
Naturalism,  15. 
"Neues    Vaterland,"    306. 
Nietzsche,  2,  26,  37,  162,  174,  177, 

217-20,    255,   332. 
Niobe,   73,  74. 
Nobel   peace  prize,  270. 
Normal  School,   10,   11,   12-17,  13, 

14,  23,  29,  32,  162. 
Notre  prochain  Vennemi,  297. 
Novalis,  169. 

Offenbach,  212. 

Olivier,  in  Jean  Christophe,  61, 
68,  76,  78,  84,  176,  179,  195-9, 
200,  201,  205,  214  ff,  220,  224, 
225,  233,  244,  246,  257,  260,  264, 
267,  283,  309,  318,  336  340. 

Olivier,  Georges,  in  Jean  Chris- 
tophe, 233. 

Offiziere,  Die,  85. 

Oration  on  Shakespeare,  72. 

Orfeo,   33. 

Origines  du  theatre  lyrique  mod- 
erne,  les,  32,    183. 

Orsino,  72,  74, 

Oudon,  Frangoise,  in  Jean  Chris- 
tophe, 75. 

Pacifism,  262  ff. 

Paine,  Thomas  9,7.  150. 


Parsifal,   30,  81,  62,  191. 
Peguy,  Charles,  14,  20,  38,  39,  59, 
115,   143. 

People's  Theater,  The,  41,  65,  133, 
68,  88.  94-97. 

Phillippe,  Charles  Louis,  44,  91. 

Philosophy  of  life,  of  Rolland,  see 
Art  of  Rolland;  Conscience; 
Defeat,  significance  of;  Faith; 
Freedom  of  Conscience;  Great- 
ness will  to;  Hatred,  campaign 
against;  Idealism;  Internation- 
alism; Justice;  Struggle,  element 
of;    Suffering,   significance  of. 

Picquart,   39,    115. 

Perrotin,  in  Cleramhault,  344. 

Pioch,   Georges,  312. 

Polichinelle,  in  Lilidi,  337. 

Precurseurs,  les,  see  The  Fore- 
runners. 

Pretre  de  Nemi,  le,  125. 

Prinz  von  Hamburg,  Der,  92. 

Provenzale,    Francesco,   34. 

Quesnel,    in   Les   Loups,   114. 

Racine,  91,  92. 

Railber,  Die,  92. 

Red  Cross,  in  Switzerland,  268  ff, 

269  ff. 
Renaissance,  24,  25,  68,  71. 
Renaitour,  312. 
Renan,  12,  13,  25,  37,  125  ff,  176, 

196,  214,  309. 
"Revue  de  I'art  dramatique,"  35, 

88. 
"Revue  de  Paris"  25,  141. 
Robespierre,  99,  101,  108,  113,  117, 

126. 
Rolland,  Madeleine,  3. 
Rolland,  Romain,  academic  life  of, 

in  Paris,  32-35,  42;  adolescence 


376 


INDEX 


of,  3-11;  ancestry  of,  3;  and   his 
epoch,  57-62;  and  the  European 
spirit,  52,   53;   appeal   to   Presi- 
dent Wilson,  348-50;  as  embodi 
ment   of   European   spirit,   52-3 
art  of,  63-6;  at  Paris,  32-5,  36 
attitude  of,  during  the  war,  257- 
355 ;    campaign  of,  against  hatred 
297-303;  childhood  of,  3-7;  con- 
troversy of,  with  Hauptmann,  277- 
80;      correspondence     of,     with 
Verhaeren  2814;   cycles  of  67- 
75;    diary    of,    during   the   war, 
327-28;  drama  of  the  revolution, 
100-30;  dramatic  writings,  25,28, 
57,    130;    Dreyfus    case,    3847, 
fame,  49,  50,  51,  48;   father  of, 
6;   friendships,  13-15,  25,  26-28, 
311-316;  heroic  biographies,  133- 
153;  humanitarianism  of,  307  fif; 
idealism  of,  60  ff;   influence  of, 
during  the  war,  320-326,  355-6; 
influence    of   Tolstoi    on,    19-22; 
Jean  Christophe,  157-237;  letters 
of,    during    the    war,    317-319; 
marriage    of,    35,    41,    73,    134; 
mass  suggestion  in  writings  of, 
261,  266,  32947;   mother  of,  3, 
27;    newspaper  writing   of   289- 
292;    opponents    of,   during   the 
war,  304-10;  portrait  of,  46,  47; 
role    of,    in    fellowship    of    free 
spirits    during   the   war,   273  ff; 
Rome,  23,  28;  schooling  of  5-17; 
seclusion,    43,    44,    45-7,    48-49, 
324;    significance    of   life   work, 
2;  tragedies  of  faith,  76-85;  un- 
written biographies,  150-153. 

Rossi,   Ernesto,  24. 

Rossi,   Luigi,  33. 

Rostand,  117. 

Rouanet,  312. 


Rousseau,  275. 

Roussin,  in  Jean  Christophe,  176. 

Route  en  lacets  qui  monte,  la,  330. 

St.    Christophe,    157. 

Saint-Just,  pseud.,  39,  84,  101.  108. 

113,  126. 
Saint  Louis,  77-8,  80-82,  83. 

125,  244. 
Salviati,   24. 

Saures,   Andre,   14,   15,  39.  i 

Scarlatti,    Alessandro,    34. 
Schermann,  330. 
Scheurer,  Kestner,  39,  115. 
Schiller,  73,  86,  87,  90,  92,  95,  97, 

100-1,  123,  155,  193,  196. 
Schubert,    175,    180. 
Schulz,   Prof,  in  Jean  Christophe, 

174,  204. 
Seippel,  Paul,  50,  165,  172. 
Severine,  312. 
Shakespeare,  5,  6,  10,  14,  15,  18, 

23,  24,  15,  64,  69,  72,  92,  100, 

123,   125,   150. 
Sidonie,  in  Jean  Christophe,  213. 
Siege  de  Mantoue,  le,  73. 
Sorbonne,   32,   33. 
Souvenirs    d'enfance    et    de    jeu- 

nesse,  12. 
Spinoza,  10,  13,  18. 
Stendahl,  169,  177. 
Strauss,    Hugo,    35. 
Strindberg,    2,    126  ff.  g 

Struggle,  element  of,  in  RoUand's 

philosophy,  222,  246  ff. 
Suffering,  significance   of,   in   Rol- 

land's   philosophy,   133-136,   181- 

7,    188-94;     204    ff;    heroes    of 

133-53. 
Switzerland,     refuge     of     Rolland 

during   the    war,   264-7. 


INDEX 


377 


"Tablettes,    les"   313, 

70550,    118. 

Teulier,  in  The  Wolves,  114,  115, 
121,   310. 

Theatre  du  peuple,  le,  see  People's 
Theatre. 

Thiesson,  Gaston,  312. 

Tillier,   Claude,  3. 

Tolstoi,  18,  20,  21,  23,  15,  24,  53, 
60,  64,  67,  82,  86,  87,  90,  92,  94, 
135,  138,  147-149,  151,  161,  165, 
170.  175,  176,  182,  204,  245,  255, 
265,   300,    317,   320,   333. 

To  the  Undying  Antigone,  27. 

Tragedies  de  la  foi,  les,  see  Trag- 
edies of  Faith. 

Tragedies  of  Faith,  69,  76-83,  76. 

"Tribunal  of  the  spirit,"  see 
Fellowship. 

Triumph  of  Reason,  The,  63,  101, 
102,    113,    114,    119. 

Trois    Amoureuses,    les,    173. 

Truth,  in  Liluli,  337. 

Unknown  dramatic  cycle,  71-75. 

Verhaeren,  44,  77,  175,  276,  311; 

Rolland's    correspondence    with, 

281-84. 
Vie  de  Beethoven,  see  Beethoven. 
Vie  de   Tolstoi,  see  Tolstoi. 


Vie  de  Michel-Ange,  la,  see  Life  of 

Michael  Angela,   The. 
Vie  des  hommes  illustres,  301. 
Von  Kf-rich,  Frau,  in  ]ean  Chris- 

tophc,  173,  204. 
Vf  •!   Meysenbug,  Malwida,  26,  27, 

28,  29,  29-31,  73,  150,  162. 
Von  Unruh,  Fritz,  85. 
Vorreden    Material    im    Nachlass, 

255. 
Vous  etes  des  hommes,  312. 

Wagner,  2,  9,  10,  14,  26,  29,  30. 

31,  37,  64,  92,  162,  174,  212. 
Wahrheit  und  Dichtung,  175. 
War  and  Peace,  64,  170. 
War,  dominant  theme  in  Rolland's 

plays,    28;    of    the    generations, 

229-234;    in    Rolland's   writings, 

260  ff. 
Weber,  Die,   92,   277. 
Weil,  in  Jean  Christophe,  224. 
What   is    to    be   Done?    18. 
Wilhelm  Meister,  155,  168. 
William  the   Silent,  66. 
Wilson,    President,    348-50. 
Wolf,  Hugo,  35,  150,  174. 
Wolff's  news  agency,  277. 
Wolves,  The,  39,  101,  102,  113,  114. 

Zola,  15,  58,  85,  87,  39,91, 115, 177. 


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